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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

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A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation.

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team.

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was.

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in.

No, he needed to.

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze.

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers.

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks.

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him.

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him.

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on.

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?”

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions.

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone.

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that.

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm.

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same.

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over.

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho.

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door.

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call.

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI.

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid.

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team.

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.”

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.”

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically.

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?”

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else.

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor.

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone.

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end.

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back.

Check.

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake.

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days.

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be.

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.”

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career.

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger.

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed.

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need.

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber.

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer.

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t.

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time.

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?”

A light rustle replied.

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.”

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door.

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home.

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late.

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle.

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.”

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

947 notes · View notes

mariasont · 17 days ago

Note

EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? 😩) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work 💕

I Aim To Please - S.R

a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting 💖💖

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader

warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease

wc: 1.5k

There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until he’s had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; she’ll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And third—perhaps the most crucial—do everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.

That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasn’t even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.

Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasn’t much—just a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.

The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didn’t decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes you’d been carefully organizing.

Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and—just like that—your brain completely short-circuited.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"

"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."

"Oh,” you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."

You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.

"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."

Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiar—like you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.

"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."

"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."

You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—there was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.

But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.

"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know it’s not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."

"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."

"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."

Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.

"I'm just, um, organized I guess,” you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.

"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."

Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."

Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."

You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.

"I don't... I don't know about that."

He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"

"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.

He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.

"Well, uh, you’ve only done it twice, so I don’t think that’s enough for you to judge."

His grin widened. "Oh? So you’re saying I should try again? For research purposes?"

Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "I—uh—no, that's not what I meant.”

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what you’re after, I’ve got plenty.”

"Please, no."

"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."

"Dr. Reid—," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.

"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."

Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control you’d desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.

Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you."

He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."

"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."

You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."

"That's only because I didn’t think it would work."

"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."

You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x shy!reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

Like Real People Do

Summary: After you fill in for JJ, Spencer has to deal with seeing you everyday at work.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes: nondescript smut (16+), sexual tension, suggestive content, angst, arguing, ignoring feelings, repressing emotions, consumption of alcohol, Jemily, bisexual Penelope, brief discussions of cases and danger

Word count: 13k

a/n: the asked for part two to Too Sweet !!! will also be writing a part three oops lmao

main masterlist

part one part three

Spencer avoided you as much as possible during your first week with the team, and it pissed him off relentlessly that you didn’t seem to care. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, you were chatting easily with Emily, sharing a laugh with Derek, or diving into casework with the kind of enthusiasm that made everyone around you smile. You treated him just the same as you treated everyone else on the team—detached, professional, and completely unfazed by the tension he was sure hung between you. Spencer hated it.

He found himself watching you out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign that you were affected by his presence, by the shared history that he couldn’t seem to forget. But you remained infuriatingly composed, your demeanor perfectly neutral. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, no trace of the woman who had shared an intimate night with him only to disappear without a word. You were the perfect liaison—competent, friendly, and utterly professional. Spencer hated it.

One afternoon, you approached his desk with a bright smile, holding out a case file. “Hey, Doctor Reid, here’s the case file Hotch asked me to pass out. He specifically wants you to work on the geographical profile.”

“Thanks,” Spencer muttered, barely looking up as he took the file from your hand. His voice was clipped, his tone dismissive, but if it bothered you, you didn’t show it.

“You got it!” you replied cheerfully before turning to Derek’s desk, completely unbothered by Spencer’s curt response.

Spencer watched as you handed Derek his file with the same effortless professionalism. “Derek, here’s your file. Hotch asked that you look at the victimology.”

Derek grinned, leaning back in his chair as he took the file from you. “You bet, sweetcheeks,” he said with a wink, clearly pleased with the new nickname he’d given you.

Spencer bristled. He hated that you already had a nickname, that you’d integrated so seamlessly into the team. Everyone loved you, and why wouldn’t they? You were a lovely person—to them. You were always friendly, always helpful, always the first to crack a joke or lend a hand. To them, you were the perfect addition to the team. But to Spencer, you were a constant reminder of the hurt, confusion, and anger that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

He couldn’t understand how you could be so detached, so unaffected by everything that had happened between you. It gnawed at him, fueled his frustration every time he saw you laughing with Penelope or discussing a case with Hotch. How could you be so calm, so professional, when he was struggling to keep his emotions in check every time you were in the same room?

It made him furious, how easily you seemed to fit in. The way you spoke to him was exactly the same as how you spoke to Derek or Emily—there was no trace of recognition, no hint of anything beyond the professional. You didn’t flinch when he was cold, didn’t react to his clipped tones. If anything, you treated him with the same detached politeness you offered to everyone else. And that, more than anything, drove him crazy.

As the week dragged on, Spencer’s frustration simmered beneath the surface. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were doing it on purpose—that you were deliberately pretending nothing had happened, just to get under his skin. Every time you walked past his desk with a smile, every time you handed him a file with that same calm demeanor, it was like salt in the wound. And the worst part was that you seemed completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

But Spencer wasn’t going to let it go. He wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. He’d confront you when the time was right, make you face the mess you’d left behind. But for now, he had to swallow his anger and focus on the case, even if it killed him to be in the same room with you.

As you moved on to distribute the rest of the case files, Spencer’s eyes followed you, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He couldn’t stand how professional you were, how detached, how much he wanted you to acknowledge him in some way that wasn’t wrapped in pleasantries and polite distance. The unresolved friction hung heavy in the air, and Spencer knew it was only a matter of time before it boiled over.

—

It was a typical Friday afternoon in the bullpen, the atmosphere lighter as everyone looked forward to the weekend. Spencer sat at his desk, his eyes flicking over the case file in front of him, though his mind was far from the details of the case. He was hyper-aware of your presence across the room, the sound of your voice carrying just enough for him to catch snippets of your conversation with Derek.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, you got any plans tonight?” Derek asked, his tone playful as always.

You grinned at him, clearly enjoying the banter. “Hello, Derek,” you replied with a teasing lilt in your voice. “I do, actually.”

“Ohhh, what’s up, a hot date?” Derek continued, the playful edge in his voice making it clear he was just having fun.

Spencer’s ears perked up at that, his focus shifting entirely to your conversation. He kept his eyes on his file, pretending to be engrossed in his work, but he was listening intently.

“Oh yeah, super hot date,” you smirked, your tone dripping with mock-seriousness.

Spencer’s jaw clenched involuntarily, and an unexpected wave of jealousy surged through him. The idea of you with someone else—laughing, smiling, sharing moments like the one you had with him—made his chest tighten with a mix of anger and hurt. He kind of wanted to slap you, though the rational part of his mind quickly reminded him that he would never do such a thing, especially not to a woman.

“Damn, Y/L,” Derek said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Wish it was me.”

You laughed, leaning in slightly as you replied, “Oh, I know, and it could be easily.”

Spencer’s stomach twisted at that. He couldn’t take it anymore. The easy way you flirted with Derek, the way you brushed off everything that had happened between the two of you as if it were nothing—it was too much. Without another word, he abruptly stood from his desk and took off, leaving the bullpen in a rush, his emotions boiling over. He was pissed, hurt, and tired of pretending like everything was fine.

Meanwhile, Derek tilted his head, intrigued by your response. “How do you mean?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“My hot date?” you replied with a mischievous grin. “Is my bathtub with salts and bubbles, baby.”

Derek burst out laughing, clearly amused by your response. “Ah, I see how it is. Gotta pamper yourself, huh?”

“Always,” you winked, feeling pleased with yourself for the playful banter.

But, of course, Spencer didn’t hear that part. He was long gone, too caught up in the idea that you were going on a date, too overwhelmed by the emotions he couldn’t seem to shake. He didn’t know the full story, didn’t realize that you were just playing around. All he knew was that you seemed to be moving on without a care in the world, while he was stuck in the unresolved mess of his feelings.

As you and Derek continued your conversation, completely unaware of Spencer’s reaction, the tension in the bullpen grew. Spencer’s departure didn’t go unnoticed by the others, though no one quite knew what had set him off this time.

—

The team was gathered in the precinct in Atlanta, waiting for Hotch to hand out assignments for the day. The atmosphere was tense, everyone on edge due to the gruesome nature of the case. Hotch’s voice was calm and authoritative as he began assigning tasks.

“Reid, you go with L/N to speak with the family,” Hotch instructed, his tone leaving no room for questions—at least, that was usually the case.

“What? Why?” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.

The sudden outburst caught everyone off guard. Derek, Emily, and Rossi all looked at him with surprise, their eyes widening slightly at his uncharacteristic challenge to Hotch’s authority. It had been a long time since Spencer had questioned Hotch like this. Something was clearly wrong.

Hotch’s gaze narrowed slightly, his expression hardening as he addressed Spencer. “It’s your assignment, and you will take it. Go.”

The finality in Hotch’s tone left no room for arguments. Spencer knew better than to push further, but the pressure in the air was palpable. His frustration was obvious, and it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, especially you.

You knew things were tense between you and Spencer, but you hadn’t realized it had reached the point where he would openly question Hotch.

“Uh, I can drive if you want,” you offered, trying to bridge the gap. You had noticed that Spencer preferred not to drive, often handing over the keys to someone else.

For the first time, Spencer saw a crack in your usually cheery demeanor. You looked a little sheepish, almost uncertain, as you made the offer.

“Great, let’s go,” Spencer said curtly, tossing the keys to the SUV at you without another word.

The drive was awkward and quiet, the strain between you almost suffocating. Spencer sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the file in front of him, while you focused on the road, trying to ignore the uneasy silence. The only sound was the occasional rustle of paper as Spencer flipped through the case notes, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between you.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence. “I can go in alone,” you offered, your tone neutral, almost indifferent.

Spencer looked up from the file, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, you clearly didn’t want this assignment,” you replied, glancing at him briefly before returning your attention to the road.

“That had nothing to do with speaking to the family,” Spencer snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

“Ah, got it,” you said, your tone calm, almost detached, as if you were simply acknowledging the fact and moving on.

Your nonchalance in that moment, the way you brushed off his anger like it was nothing, made Spencer’s temper boil over. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice rising with frustration.

“I'm sorry?” you responded, genuinely taken aback by the sudden outburst.

“You should be!” Spencer retorted, his words laced with bitterness. “How are you acting like everything is fine?”

“Did I do something to upset you, Doctor Reid?” you asked, your tone still calm but now tinged with an undercurrent of confusion.

“Uh, yeah, you did,” Spencer shot back, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. He could feel the anger bubbling up, hurt and frustration that had been festering for weeks.

You pulled the car to a stop at a red light, turning to face him with a steady gaze. “Then tell me what it is,” you said, your voice no longer as detached as before.

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to lay everything out, to tell you how hurt he was by the way you left him that morning, how angry he was that you acted like nothing had happened between you two. But another part of him was conflicted, unsure if it was even worth bringing up now.

“You left,” Spencer finally said, his voice lower but filled with raw emotion. “You left without a word, without even a note, and then you just show up here like it meant nothing. And now, you’re acting like we’re strangers. Like none of it mattered.”

You stared at him, processing his words. The light turned green, and you started driving again, your grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. For a moment, you were silent, weighing your response.

“It wasn’t nothing,” you said quietly after a long pause. “But it wasn’t something I thought needed to be addressed. We had a night, Spencer, and that’s all it was. I didn’t think it would turn into… this.”

Spencer shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You really don’t get it, do you? You just left, Y/N. No explanation, no closure. And now I have to work with you every day, pretending like I don’t care, when it’s driving me crazy.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in the car thickening as you both realized how deep the wound had become. The professionalism that you had clung to suddenly felt like a flimsy shield, barely holding back the storm of emotions between you.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice softer now, almost apologetic, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought it would be easier for both of us to just leave it behind.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Spencer replied sharply, his voice trembling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “Because I can’t just leave it behind.”

Silence fell over the car again, but this time it was different. It was charged with unresolved feelings and the weight of words unspoken. The friction that had been simmering between you had finally boiled over, and there was no going back to how things were before.

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, unsure of how to navigate the mess that had been laid bare. The case awaited you, but the real challenge was the emotional minefield you were both now walking through.

One thing was clear: this conversation wasn’t over, and neither was whatever it was that had started between you and Spencer.

—

When the case was finally closed and the team arrived back in Quantico, Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, calm but firm. “Reid, can I see you in my office?”

Spencer froze for a moment, then nodded silently and followed Hotch into his office, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. As soon as the door closed behind him, Hotch turned to face him, his expression stern.

“Do you want to tell me what has been going on with you?” Hotch asked, his tone leaving no room for deflection.

“Nothing is going on,” Spencer replied, his voice clipped and defensive as he tried to brush off the question. He avoided Hotch’s gaze, focusing instead on a spot on the wall just over his shoulder.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unimpressed with Spencer’s attempt to deflect. “We both know that’s not true, but if you’d like to ignore it, that’s fine. Just stop letting it affect your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer responded, his tone stiff as he nodded, eager to leave the office and put this conversation behind him. He turned to leave, his hand already on the doorknob.

“And Reid?” Hotch’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yes?” Spencer replied, turning back to face his unit chief.

“Give Y/N a chance,” Hotch said, his tone softening slightly. “I know you don’t like change, but she’s doing a great job. Don’t be so hard on her.”

The words hit Spencer like a punch to the gut. He felt a wave of anger surge through him, his emotions boiling over once again. Without a word, he turned on his heel and slammed the office door behind him with more force than he intended.

The sound echoed through the bullpen, drawing the attention of his teammates, but Spencer didn’t care. He stormed away, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and conflicting emotions. Hotch’s words replayed in his head, only serving to fuel his anger further.

It wasn’t just about Y/N doing a good job or fitting in with the team. It was about the unresolved mess between them, the feelings he couldn’t shake, and the fact that she seemed completely unaffected by it all. He knew he was being irrational, but that only made him angrier.

—

The team was out for dinner, a well-deserved break after the grueling case in Atlanta. Everyone had already gathered around the table, chatting and laughing, when you and Spencer arrived—separately, of course. But as fate would have it, you walked in at the same time, an awkward coincidence that neither of you could avoid.

Spencer, despite everything, was still a gentleman. He held the door open for you, and you offered him a polite smile and a nod of thanks. The gesture was small, but it was the first sign of normalcy between you two in weeks. For a brief moment, you both seemed to fall back into your natural roles—Spencer being courteous, and you being gracious.

But when you reached the table, you both quickly realized that the rest of the team had already taken their seats, leaving only two spots open—right next to each other. The air between you immediately grew tense as you took in the situation. Spencer’s eyes went wide, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, and he heaved a deep sigh. He quickly moved to sit in the seat closest to Emily, hoping that sitting next to her would be a safer option than being near Derek, who was sure to stir the pot.

Unfortunately for Spencer, this left you next to Derek. As you settled into your seat, Derek flashed you a playful grin. “Hey, sweetcheeks. You clean up nice,” he said, his voice full of flirtatious warmth.

Before you could respond, Penelope’s voice rang out in mock indignation. “Derek Morgan, are you openly flirting with another woman in front of me?” she demanded, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You laughed softly, turning to Penelope with a wink. “Oh, it’s okay, Pen. I won’t take your chocolate thunder. But maybe you can spare me a taste?” Your playful response sent a ripple of laughter around the table, everyone enjoying the lighthearted banter—everyone except Spencer.

Emily, who had been quietly observing the interaction, noticed the way Spencer’s shoulders were tense, his posture stiff as he stared down at the table. “You good, Reid?” she asked, her voice gentle with concern.

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as he looked up. “Hmm? Yeah, just trying to decide what to get,” he mumbled, clearly distracted.

Emily raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the unopened menu in front of him. “You haven’t even opened the menu…”

The observation made the rest of the team go quiet for a moment, all eyes subtly shifting to Spencer. It wasn’t like him to be so off-kilter, especially with the team. The strain between you two hadn’t gone unnoticed, and now, with everyone watching, it was clear that something was bothering him.

Spencer quickly realized that all eyes were on him, and he felt his face heat up even more. He fumbled for the menu, flipping it open with a little more force than necessary. “I’m just… still thinking about the case,” he said, his voice sounding a bit too forced.

Derek, always one to poke fun, leaned in with a grin. “C’mon, man. We closed that case days ago. What’s really on your mind?”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you for the briefest moment before he looked away, but it was enough for Derek to catch. The playful grin on Derek’s face widened as he put two and two together. “Ah, I see,” he said with a knowing nod, but he didn’t push further—at least, not yet.

The tension at the table eased slightly as the team returned to their conversations, but the underlying pressure between you and Spencer remained. You could feel his discomfort radiating from him, and though you tried to focus on the conversation around you, it was hard to ignore the awkwardness.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this uneasy dynamic would last. The team was clearly aware that something was up, and sooner or later, it would come to a head.

Derek had noticed Spencer’s mood throughout the evening, and when it was time to leave, he realized that Spencer had taken the bus to dinner. With a casual smile, Derek offered him a ride home, which Spencer accepted, grateful for the gesture. But as soon as he climbed into Derek’s car, he began to regret it.

They had barely pulled out of the parking lot when Derek broke the silence with a teasing grin. “So, you got it bad for the new girl, huh?”

“What?” Spencer bit out, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to Derek, his eyes wide with surprise and irritation.

“Oh, come on, we can all tell there’s some tension there,” Derek continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I don’t like her like that,” Spencer snapped, his tone defensive as he stared out the window, avoiding Derek’s gaze. The street lights flickered by in a blur, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you.

“Oh no?” Derek’s voice was laced with amusement, but there was also a hint of curiosity. “Then what is it? Just want to sleep with her?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists on his lap. “Drop it, Derek,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Alright, alright,” Derek said, holding up one hand in a gesture of surrender while keeping the other on the steering wheel. “I’m just saying, kid, you’re a catch, and she’d be lucky to go out with a guy like you.”

Spencer couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The idea of you being “lucky” to go out with him was laughable. As if you hadn’t already shown him exactly where he stood by leaving him behind without a word. As if you weren’t the one who had made him feel like a fool for even entertaining the idea that there could have been something more between you.

“That’s absurd,” Spencer muttered, shaking his head. “She’s not interested, Derek. Trust me.”

Derek glanced over at Spencer, noticing the bitterness in his voice and the tension in his posture. Something deeper was going on here, something that went beyond the usual awkwardness Spencer displayed around women he liked. But Derek knew better than to push too hard, especially when Spencer was clearly on edge.

“Alright, man,” Derek said more gently this time. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. No judgment, just listening.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, grateful for Derek’s attempt at understanding but unwilling to open up about the tangled mess of emotions he was dealing with. He appreciated the offer, but this was something he wasn’t ready to discuss, not with Derek or anyone else.

—

“So, we’ve got to set them up, right?” Emily asked conspiratorially, leaning in close to Penelope as they sat together at the end of a busy day. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she was already imagining how this little plan could unfold.

“Obviously!” Penelope giggled, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Spencer has it so bad for her. It’s like watching a rom-com, except the leads are way too awkward to realize they’re in one.”

“But does Y/N even like him?” Emily asked, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s nice and friendly to everyone, but I’ve never seen her look twice at him. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Penelope paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. “You’re right, she’s hard to read. But maybe she’s just being professional, you know? She’s still new to the team—maybe she’s keeping her cards close to her chest.”

Emily nodded slowly, considering the idea. “True, but if we’re going to play matchmaker, we need to know where she stands. We can’t push them together if she’s not interested.”

A mischievous grin spread across Penelope’s face as an idea struck her. “What if we have a girls’ night?” she suggested, her voice full of excitement. “Get to know her better, loosen her up with some drinks, and ask about boys!”

Emily’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Yes! That’s perfect. We can make it a casual thing, just us girls hanging out, and see if she spills anything about her love life.”

“And if she does like Spencer, we’ll know exactly how to help them along,” Penelope added, already planning the evening in her head. “Plus, it’ll be fun to get to know her better. I’m sure she’s got some interesting stories.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, already imagining how the night would go. “This could be great. We’ll find out what makes her tick, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get her to admit she’s got a thing for our favorite doctor.”

Penelope clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Operation Girls’ Night is officially a go! We’ll plan it for this weekend—drinks, gossip, and maybe a little matchmaking.”

The two women exchanged a conspiratorial grin, pleased with their plan. They were determined to figure out what was going on between you and Spencer, and they weren’t above using a little friendly interrogation to get the answers they wanted. After all, if there was even a chance that you liked Spencer back, they were going to make sure you both got the push you needed.

—

The jet hummed softly as it cruised through the night sky, the team returning to Quantico after wrapping up another tough case. The mood was subdued, everyone lost in their own thoughts, until Emily decided to break the silence.

“Hey, Y/N,” she called out casually, her tone light as she turned to face you. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

You looked up from the book you were reading, slightly surprised by the sudden question. “Uh, not that I can think of,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Why, what’s up?”

Before Emily could respond, Spencer, who had been unusually quiet during the flight, mumbled something under his breath without looking up. “No dates?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

The question hung in the air for a moment, the friction palpable as everyone exchanged glances. It was a rare moment for Spencer to say something so directly, and the team silently noted it, but decided to let it slide for now, choosing not to address the awkwardness.

Emily quickly picked up the conversation, steering it back on track. “Well… Garcia and I were thinking we could have a girls’ night!” she said brightly, her tone full of enthusiasm. “You know, just us ladies—drinks, snacks, maybe some bad movies?”

Your face lit up at the suggestion, your smile widening. “Oh, that sounds fun! I would love to!” you replied, genuinely excited at the idea. The past few weeks had been intense, and a girls’ night sounded like the perfect way to unwind and bond with your new teammates.

Penelope, who had been sitting across from you, perked up at the mention of girls’ night. “Yay! I’m so glad you’re in, Y/N! We’ll have the best time—trust me, you won’t want to miss it.”

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick, satisfied glance, their plan already in motion. Spencer, on the other hand, remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the book in his lap, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. The subtle tension in the air didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team, but they all pretended not to notice, keeping the atmosphere light.

—

You arrived at Penelope’s apartment armed with pajamas and a bottle of wine, ready for a much-needed girls’ night. The warm, welcoming atmosphere was exactly what you needed after the intense cases and whatever had been brewing between you and Spencer. As soon as you stepped inside, you were greeted by the delicious scent of snacks, the soft glow of string lights, and the comforting sound of a movie playing in the background.

Penelope, Emily, and you quickly settled in, surrounded by cozy blankets, a spread of snacks, and plenty of wine. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter as you all relaxed into the evening.

“So, Pen, how are things between you and Kevin? Still awkward?” Emily asked with a teasing grin as she took a sip of her wine.

“Oh yeah, not touching that again. Messy!” Penelope replied, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust. “We’ve officially moved on to the ‘friendly but distant’ phase.”

Emily chuckled and leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anyone else tickling your fancy?”

Penelope’s face lit up with a shy smile, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, there’s this girl… I met her at my book club. She’s new, and she asked me out!”

“What! Penelope, that’s great!” you exclaimed, joining in on the excitement.

“Thanks, you guys,” Penelope said, beaming with happiness. “It’s still early days, but I’m really looking forward to seeing where it goes.”

Penelope turned her attention back to Emily. “How about you, Em? Anyone special in your life?”

Emily laughed softly, shaking her head. “Hmm… well, JJ is at home with our child right now, so I’m pretty set in that department.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What?? I didn’t know you and JJ were together!”

Emily grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yeah, we’ve been together for a while now. We don’t talk about it much at work; we try to keep it professional, you know?”

“Of course, I just can’t believe no one mentioned it,” you replied, still a bit stunned by the revelation.

Penelope giggled, taking another sip of her wine. “I guess it’s common knowledge around the team. We forget not everyone knows.”

You leaned back against the cushions, feeling more comfortable now that the ice was broken. “Is it hard working with your partner?” you asked, genuinely curious about how they balanced their personal and professional lives.

Emily and Penelope shared a quick look before Emily answered. “No, not at all. If anything, it makes work easier, knowing I get to be with her all day, every day. And she motivates me to do better too.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” you said, smiling at the thought of such a supportive relationship. “It must be nice to have someone who understands your job so well.”

“It is,” Emily agreed, her eyes softening as she thought about JJ. “We’ve had our challenges, but in the end, we’re stronger for it. And it’s definitely made me appreciate how important it is to have someone who’s in your corner, both at work and at home.”

A comforting silence fell over the three of you, the kind of quiet that only comes when people feel truly at ease in each other’s company. The sound of the movie playing softly in the background mixed with the occasional clink of glasses, creating a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

After a few moments, Penelope broke the silence with a gentle, curious question. “What about you, Y/N?”

“Me?” you replied, looking up from your glass, slightly caught off guard.

“Yes, you!” Penelope grinned, her eyes twinkling with interest. “Any suitors in your life?”

You let out a small laugh, a mix of amusement and self-deprecation, as you tried to shrug off the question. “Oh, hah… none that last longer than one night,” you joked, though there was a hint of uncomfortability behind your words that you couldn’t quite hide.

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick glance, both of them picking up on the undertone of your response. The lightness in the air dimmed just a little, the laughter fading into a more contemplative mood.

“Ah, the elusive one-night wonders,” Emily said with a wry smile, trying to keep the mood light while acknowledging the hint of vulnerability in your voice. “They can be fun, but they’re not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.”

Penelope, ever the compassionate one, leaned in a bit closer, her voice soft and reassuring. “You know, Y/N, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying those nights, but if you’re looking for something more… well, you deserve that too. Sometimes it just takes time to find the right person.”

You smiled gratefully at Penelope, appreciating her kindness. “Thanks, Pen. I guess I’m just not even sure what I’m looking for.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked, her tone gentle but curious as she leaned in a little closer, genuinely interested in what you had to say.

You sighed, trying to put your swirling thoughts into words. “I don’t know… I thought I knew what I wanted, but then something changed, and now I’m even more confused than ever.”

“What happened?” Penelope asked, her curiosity piqued. There was no judgment in her voice, just a soft encouragement that made you feel comfortable enough to share.

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “Well, I met a man, and we spent a night together. It was… amazing, not just the sex, but the conversation, the connection. It felt different, you know? Like it could have been something more. But I’ve got some stuff—baggage, I guess—and my mind is a mess. I think I might have ruined it by running away before it could become anything. But the thing is, I’m not even sure if I would want anything more right now. It’s just so complicated.”

Emily and Penelope exchanged a quick, subtle glance, both of them piecing together what you were saying. Given the recent tension between you and Spencer—his unusual behavior, your guarded interactions, and the awkward moments when you were in the same room—it wasn’t hard for them to suspect that Spencer might be the man you were talking about.

They had to play this cool and casual, though. If you were talking about Spencer, the last thing they wanted to do was push you too hard and make you shut down. But if it wasn’t Spencer, they needed to know that, too, because it would affect how they approached their little matchmaking plan.

Penelope leaned in slightly, keeping her tone light. “It sounds like you’re in a tough spot. But it’s okay to feel unsure, Y/N. Sometimes things are complicated, and it takes time to sort through what you really want.”

Emily nodded in agreement, adding, “Exactly. And no one’s saying you have to have it all figured out right now. It’s okay to take things slow and figure out what you need for yourself.”

You looked at both of them, feeling a sense of relief that they weren’t pushing you for more details or making assumptions. “Thanks, you guys. It’s just hard when you feel like you’ve found something special, but you’re not in the right place to pursue it.”

Penelope gave you a warm smile. “Whatever you decide, just know that we’re here for you. And if it’s meant to be, it’ll find a way to work out, even if it’s a little messy.”

You smiled back, feeling a bit lighter after sharing your thoughts. “I hope so. I just need to figure out what’s going on in my head first.”

The conversation shifted to other topics after that, but Emily and Penelope couldn’t help but keep an eye on you, silently wondering if Spencer was the man you were talking about. If it was him, they knew they had to tread carefully. But if it wasn’t… well, their plans might need some adjusting.

As the night went on, the three of you continued to bond over wine, laughter, and shared stories. But beneath the surface, both Emily and Penelope were already plotting their next move, determined to either help you sort through your complicated feelings or figure out if you were talking about someone else entirely.

—

The team had been called out to Florida to investigate a string of brutal murders that had the local authorities stumped. The unsub had a specific and chilling pattern: targeting young, straight, white couples, forcing the boyfriend to murder his girlfriend before disposing of the bodies. The case was as gruesome as it was urgent, and the BAU knew they had to act quickly to prevent more lives from being lost.

After reviewing the case details, Hotch gathered the team in the conference room of their makeshift command center. “We believe the unsub is selecting his victims from a specific nightclub in the area,” Hotch began, his voice steady. “He’s likely using this location as a hunting ground, identifying couples that match his preferred victimology. We need to draw him out.”

Hotch turned to Spencer with a serious expression. “Reid would you be comfortable playing the part of the boyfriend in an attempt to get the unsub’s attention at the club?”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This was far outside his comfort zone, but the urgency of the situation left him with little choice. “If it’s what’s needed, I’ll do it,” he agreed, though his voice was a bit tighter than usual.

Hotch nodded, appreciating Spencer’s willingness. “Thank you, Reid. We’ll ensure you have all the backup you need.”

Hotch then turned to Emily, intending to ask her to be Spencer’s counterpart. “Prentiss, I’d like you to play the role of the girlfriend. We can work on the cover story and—”

Before he could finish, Emily shook her head, interrupting him. “Hotch, I think I’m too old to fit the unsub’s victimology. He’s targeting younger couples, and I wouldn’t blend in as well as someone closer to the profile.”

Hotch paused, considering her words. She had a point—the unsub’s victims had all been in their twenties. He needed someone who could convincingly pass as a target (Emily could let’s be real). His eyes drifted toward you, and though he was hesitant, he knew you were the best option given the circumstances.

He turned to you, his expression serious. “Y/N, I know this isn’t what you signed up for as a liaison, and I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. But with Prentiss being right about the victimology, you’re our best option. I can give you a quick debriefing and some coaching if you agree.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden request. You were used to working in the field, but this was different—this was personal and dangerous. The thought of working so closely with Spencer made your stomach tighten. But you also knew how high the stakes were. If your participation could save lives, you couldn’t refuse.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “If you think it’s the best course of action, I’ll do it. Just make sure I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch offered you a reassuring nod. “You’ll have all the support you need. We’ll work through the cover story and logistics before you head out. And remember, the entire team will be watching your backs.”

With the plan in motion, the team began preparing for the undercover operation. The pressure in the air was thick as Hotch pulled you aside for a quick but thorough debriefing. You could feel the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders, but you steeled yourself, determined to do whatever it took to help catch the unsub.

“Okay, Y/N,” Hotch began, his voice calm and authoritative, “this is what you need to do.”

He handed you a small earpiece. “You’ll be wearing this the entire time. We’ll be in constant communication with you and Spencer. The team will be monitoring everything from the van outside, so if anything feels off or if you sense any danger, just signal us, and we’ll intervene immediately.”

You nodded, slipping the earpiece in and adjusting it. The idea of being so closely monitored was both reassuring and nerve-wracking, but you pushed those feelings aside.

Hotch continued, his tone serious. “When you get to the club, you need to act naturally—like a couple out for a night of fun. The unsub is methodical, and he’s likely watching for couples who fit his victim profile. You and Spencer need to blend in, but you also need to be aware of your surroundings. Stay close to Spencer, and don’t let your guard down.”

He paused, looking you in the eye. “Remember, the unsub likely approaches the couples he targets with charm and subtlety. You may not recognize him right away, so trust your instincts. If anyone seems too interested in you or Spencer, report it immediately.”

You swallowed, feeling the gravity of the situation. “What if he tries to separate us?”

“That’s unlikely at first,” Hotch replied. “He’ll want to gain your trust before making his move. But if he does try, make it difficult. Stay close to Spencer. Your job is to make sure the unsub believes you’re a real couple. Your cover story is that you’ve been dating for a few months, and this is a special night out for you.”

You met Hotch’s gaze, feeling nerves and determination. “I understand. I won’t let you down.”

Hotch gave you a reassuring nod. “Good. We’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

With that, the briefing was over. You felt the weight of the mission settle more heavily on your shoulders, but you also knew you had the full support of the team behind you. As you walked back to where Spencer was waiting, you mentally prepared yourself for what was to come.

You approached Spencer with hesitation and resolve, knowing that this conversation needed to happen before you both went undercover. The tension between you had been simmering for weeks, and now you were about to put on an act that required you to be convincingly in love. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“Spencer…?” you began, your voice cautious.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone clipped, already on edge.

“This is going to be awkward, and I’m sorry for that,” you continued, trying to break the ice. “Can we just keep this professional? We can act like we like each other to save lives, right?” You attempted a light-hearted joke, but it fell flat.

“Of course, Y/N. I’m not a child,” Spencer snapped back, his irritation clear. So much for pretending to like you.

You winced slightly at his tone but pressed on. “Okay…um, I also wanted to say that—well, nothing is off the table. Whatever it takes to catch this guy, get his attention, make him believe we’re a desirable couple in love…let’s do it.”

Spencer’s eyes softened just a fraction as he realized you were serious. He took a deep breath, nodding. “Okay, I agree. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

The conversation was brief and tense, but at least you had established some ground rules. There was still a thick layer of unresolved emotion between you, but you both knew that when it came down to it, the mission took priority.

—

You and Spencer had gotten ready separately for the club, knowing that you needed to look the part if you were going to convincingly play a couple that the unsub might target. Emily had been by your side as you prepared, her encouragement and sharp eye ensuring that you looked hot as hell. She may have had a hidden agenda, hoping that something real might spark between you and Spencer tonight, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

When the time came, you both met in the hotel lobby, the plan ready to be set into motion. But as soon as you laid eyes on each other, the seriousness of the situation was momentarily forgotten, both of you sent mildly for a loop by each other’s appearance.

Spencer’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way your outfit hugged every curve. The tight, red top and matching skirt, revealing just enough to be teasing, had his mind reeling. He was suddenly, and quite vividly, reminded of the night you’d spent together, the memory of you beneath him flashing in his mind. The sight of you now, looking so effortlessly sexy, made his throat go dry.

Meanwhile, you were having a hard time picking your jaw up off the floor. Spencer, who usually favored his vests and button-ups, had ditched the formal wear for a more relaxed look. The simple gray t-shirt clung to his lean frame, accentuating the lines of his shoulders and chest. The addition of the chain around his neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat. You had always thought Spencer was attractive, but seeing him like this—so casual, so effortlessly confident—had your pulse racing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, both caught up in the unexpected surge of attraction. It was clear that the night ahead was going to be challenging in more ways than one. But as the mission loomed over you, the strain between you simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.

Finally, Spencer broke the silence, clearing his throat as he tried to regain his composure. “You… uh, you look great, Y/N. Ready for this?”

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Thanks, Spencer. You clean up pretty well yourself. Let’s do this.”

With that, you both turned toward the exit, the air between you charged with unresolved feelings and unspoken words. The night had just begun, and already, it was clear that the lines between your undercover roles and your real emotions were going to be dangerously blurred.

—

Inside the club, the pulsing beat of the music and the flashing lights created an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. The energy of the place was infectious, but your nerves were on edge. The thought that someone in this very crowd might be eyeing you as their next victim sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to keep your cool, but it wasn’t easy. The low light, the thrumming bass, and the knowledge that you were essentially bait made the situation feel far more intense.

But it wasn’t just the case that had your nerves frayed. As soon as you and Spencer stepped out of the car, you felt his big, warm hand press gently against the exposed skin of your lower back, guiding you toward the entrance. The contact was electrifying, sending a fire through your entire body. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves, the proximity, or the tension between you two, but every nerve ending felt like it was on high alert.

“Alright, Y/N, stay calm,” Spencer’s voice cut through your thoughts, his tone soothing yet firm. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke just loudly enough for you to hear over the music. “Let’s go to the bar. We can get some non-alcoholic drinks.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. But it was hard to concentrate when his hand stayed firmly on your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing. You reminded yourself that this was all part of the act, but the effect it was having on you felt far too real.

As you made your way through the crowd, the lights flashing in sync with the music, you did your best to play the role. You leaned into Spencer slightly, letting yourself appear relaxed, as if you were just another couple out for a good time. But inside, your mind was a whirlwind of anxiety and an unexpected attraction that you hadn’t anticipated.

When you reached the bar, Spencer ordered two non-alcoholic drinks, keeping his voice low and calm. He was good at this—better than you’d expected. His demeanor was confident, protective, and even though you knew it was all part of the cover, it was hard not to feel a sense of comfort from it.

As the bartender handed over your drinks, Spencer’s hand finally left your back, and you couldn’t help but miss the warmth. You took a deep breath, focusing on the mission. You needed to look natural, to draw attention without appearing out of place. It was all about selling the image.

“Here,” Spencer said, handing you your drink. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between you. “We’ll just hang out here for a bit, see if anyone takes notice.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink and trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. The club was filled with people dancing, laughing, and flirting, and for a brief second, you almost wished you were here under different circumstances—no case, no danger, just you and Spencer, enjoying a night out.

But the reality was far from that. You were here to catch a killer.

“Baby, do you want to stand at that high top by the dance floor?” Spencer asked, his voice louder to be heard over the thumping music. The term of endearment threw you off guard, your mind momentarily blanking at the unexpected sweetness in his tone. It sounded so natural, so right, coming from him, and it sent a flutter through your chest.

You quickly recovered, trying to keep up the act. “Uh, yeah, babe—let’s go,” you replied, the word feeling a bit foreign on your tongue but surprisingly easy to say. Spencer responded by taking your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he led you toward the high-top table near the dance floor. His grip was firm, comforting, and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but notice how well your hands fit together.

Once you reached the table, you positioned yourselves so that you had a good view of the club. It was all about the mission—watching the crowd, spotting anyone who might be a threat—but Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and intimate as he spoke.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he mumbled, his words almost lost in the din of the music. “No one can keep their eyes off of you. This is going to be difficult.”

His compliment was unexpected, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if it was part of the act or something more. The way he said it, with that soft, almost shy tone, made your heart skip a beat. The intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes lingered on yours, made you wonder if there was more truth to his words than he was letting on.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you hoped the dim lighting would hide it.

He nodded, his expression serious again as he scanned the room, his hand still holding yours. “Let’s just stay close and make sure we don’t separate. If anyone approaches, we stick to the story—dating for a few months, here for a special night out. We can’t let our guard down.”

You agreed with a nod, though your thoughts kept drifting back to the way his hand felt in yours, how effortlessly he was playing the role of your boyfriend. The line between acting and reality was starting to blur, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment, despite the danger lurking somewhere in the club.

But you quickly refocused, reminding yourself of the stakes. This was about catching a killer, not exploring whatever confusing feelings you might have for Spencer. Still, as you stood there, fingers intertwined with his, it was hard to ignore the fact that pretending to be in love with him didn’t feel like much of a stretch at all.

As you stood at the high top with Spencer, you couldn’t help but notice how close the other couples around you were. Some were practically glued together, their bodies pressed intimately against one another. A few had their arms wrapped around each other, sharing whispered words and secret smiles, while one particularly bold couple was making out with such intensity that you were sure they’d forgotten they were in public. The contrast between their closeness and the polite distance you and Spencer were keeping was glaringly obvious.

You knew you had to sell the illusion more convincingly. Taking a deep breath, you dropped Spencer’s hand and moved in closer, turning so your back was pressed firmly against his chest. The move was bold, and it had the intended effect. Your ass brushed against his crotch, the contact sending a shockwave through both of you. You could feel his body tense behind you, the sudden intimacy making your pulse quicken.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer whispered harshly in your ear, his voice low and strained as his hands instinctively gripped your hips to keep up the charade. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

“Acting like a couple,” you murmured back, keeping your tone casual despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Look around.”

Spencer glanced around the club, taking in the other couples who were much closer, more intimate, and clearly far more convincing as lovers than the two of you had been up until this point. He realized you were right—if you were going to catch the unsub’s attention, you needed to sell the act. Still, the sudden proximity was rattling him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the mission instead of the way your body felt pressed against his. “Okay, fine,” he muttered, his grip on your hips tightening just slightly. “But don’t go too far.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his discomfort, but you knew he was right. You needed to maintain control, but you also had to look convincing. Leaning back into him, you let your body relax against his, your movements slow and deliberate as you adjusted to the new position.

Spencer’s hands remained on your hips, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your skirt as he tried to ignore the way your warmth seeped into him. Despite the uncertainty between you, there was an undeniable connection in the way you moved together, a rhythm that felt strangely natural.

The music thumped around you, the lights flashed in time with the beat, and as you swayed in time with the music, the line between act and reality blurred even further. It was becoming harder to remember that this was just a cover, just a mission. And from the way Spencer’s grip on your hips lingered a little too long, you wondered if he was feeling the same way.

“Reid, L/N, five o'clock, guy in a gray hoodie, looked past you. Step it up,” Hotch’s voice crackled through your earpieces, snapping you both out of the momentary haze that had settled over you. The reminder of the mission sent a cold shiver down your spine, the gravity of the situation crashing back into focus. This wasn’t just an act; this was a dangerous game with real consequences.

You blinked, forcing yourself to stay calm. The intimacy of your position was suddenly charged with a different kind of tension. You could feel Spencer tense behind you, the same realization dawning on him.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice soft, trying to keep the fear out of your tone. “Can I turn around? We can dance?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment, then nodded. “Sure,” he replied, his voice a bit strained.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart beating fast in your chest. As you did, you were met with his intense gaze, those pretty hazel eyes locking onto yours. The club lights flickered across his face, casting shadows that only seemed to make him look more striking.

“Hi,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

“Focus, Y/N,” Spencer gritted out, his jaw tight as he forced himself to stay on task. His hands slid back to your hips, pulling you taut against his body with a firmness that was more grounding than intimate. He wasn’t playing around anymore—he was in full profiler mode, and he needed you to be too.

You swallowed hard and nodded, pushing the swirling emotions aside. There was no room for hesitation or distraction now. You both began to sway to the beat, your bodies moving together in a way that was meant to draw attention, but also to look like a couple deeply connected.

As you danced, you could feel the tension in Spencer’s body, the way he was torn between the necessity of the mission and the undeniable pull between you. The pressure of his hands on your hips was both reassuring and unsettling, grounding you in the moment while reminding you of the line you couldn’t cross.

But even as you tried to focus on the task, the proximity, the warmth, and the intensity of his gaze made it difficult to separate the act from reality. You were dancing for a purpose, but the way your bodies moved together felt far too natural, far too easy.

The man in the gray hoodie lingered in your peripheral vision, and you knew the stakes were high. You had to sell this, had to make him believe you were just another couple in love, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

“Hotch, you can see us, right?” you asked into the earpiece, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves gnawing at your insides.

“Of course,” Hotch’s calm voice responded. “Morgan and Prentiss are inside too, keeping an eye on everything.”

The reassurance helped, but only slightly. You knew the team had your back, but that didn’t make the situation any less intense. You glanced up at Spencer, noticing how his eyes kept darting around the room, scanning for threats.

“Okay, Spencer, look at me,” you said firmly, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music. “Stop looking around—you’re in love with me, remember?”

Spencer’s gaze snapped back to you, and he gave you a playful glare, clearly annoyed by the reminder but unable to argue with the logic. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair. The move brought you closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that was far too reminiscent of your last intimate encounter. You could feel the tension coil tighter between you, but you ignored it, focusing on the mission.

“Y/N…” he warned low, his voice strained, the memory of that night flashing in his eyes. The way your fingers brushed against his scalp was too familiar, too charged with unspoken emotion.

“Just doing my job,” you whispered back, your tone light but your heart pounding in your chest.

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced but playing along nonetheless.

Before either of you could say more, Derek’s voice crackled through your earpieces. “Reid, grab lower—you look too stiff.”

Emily smothered a laugh from where she stood across the club, clearly enjoying the situation more than she probably should. But Spencer, ever the professional, did as he was told. His hands slid down your back, settling on your ass with a firm grip. The sudden, bold move sent a jolt through you, and you couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips.

“Payback,” Spencer mouthed, a mischievous glint in his eye as he held your gaze, not wanting the others to hear the exchange.

You narrowed your eyes at him, biting back a smile despite yourself. He was getting into the role now, playing the part of the devoted boyfriend with a bit more enthusiasm than you expected. But there was still that undercurrent of uncertainty, that sense that the line between acting and reality was growing thinner by the second.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. The man in the gray hoodie was still in the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t afford to let your guard down. But as Spencer’s hands remained on your body, his touch far more intimate than necessary, you found it increasingly difficult to keep your own emotions in check.

The moment you heard Spencer’s voice through the earpiece, directing, “Prentiss, Morgan, keep your eyes on gray hoodie,” you barely had time to register what was happening before Spencer’s lips pressed down on yours.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was intense, full of urgency and purpose, catching you completely off guard. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you even closer. The heat of his body against yours made your head spin and you let out a whine that Spencer felt more than heard. There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed you—his mouth moved against yours with a fierce determination, as if he was trying to communicate everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Your initial shock melted into the moment as you found yourself kissing him back just as fervently. The crowded, noisy club seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you locked in this sudden, passionate embrace. It was more than just a distraction for the unsub—it felt real, too real, like all the friction that had been building between you both had finally erupted.

Your hands fully fisted his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you let yourself get lost in the kiss and Spencer’s deep groan. There was a desperation in the way Spencer’s lips moved against yours, a need that mirrored your own, and it was impossible to tell where the act ended and the truth began.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Spencer’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, still holding you close. There was a moment of silence between you, the world seeming to stand still in the aftermath of what had just happened.

But then reality came crashing back in. The club’s pounding music, the mission, the danger—it all returned in an instant. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, reminding yourself why you were here.

“That should do it,” Spencer muttered, his voice low and rough as he glanced over your shoulder, checking for any reaction from the man in the gray hoodie.

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you couldn’t quite find the words to respond. The kiss had shaken you, and you could tell it had affected Spencer too, though he was doing his best to remain composed.

“Good job, gray hoodie is making his way over. Prepare to talk to him,” Hotch’s voice came through your earpieces, calm and commanding as always.

You barely had time to catch your breath, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Spencer’s kiss. But there was no time to dwell on it now—the mission was moving forward, and you needed to be ready.

“Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek added, his voice laced with amusement. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone, and you knew he’d have something to say about that kiss later. But for now, all you could do was roll your eyes and focus on what was coming next.

Spencer’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, a subtle reminder that he was right there with you, in more ways than one. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Remember, we’re just here to have a good time. Stay calm, and let me lead the conversation.”

You nodded, your heart still racing but your mind sharpening as you prepared to interact with the man who could very well be the unsub. You glanced up at Spencer, his eyes meeting yours with determination and something else—something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.

The man in the gray hoodie approached you and Spencer, his eyes scanning the area before focusing on you with a predatory gleam. Sensing his intent, you and Spencer stayed close, maintaining your cover as he made his move. As he began to get aggressive, subtly trying to lead you away from the crowd, Spencer tightened his hold on you, ready to react.

But before the situation could escalate further, Prentiss moved in quickly, her handcuffs at the ready. The moment the unsub tried to take control, she was on him, expertly restraining him before he could do any harm. The takedown was swift and decisive, with the unsub barely registering what had happened before he was secured.

“Great job, you two,” Hotch’s voice came through the earpiece, filled with genuine praise. You could almost hear the relief in his tone as he acknowledged how smoothly the operation had gone.

“Yeah, nice work, lovebirds,” Derek interjected, his playful tone impossible to miss. You could practically see the teasing grin on his face, and you knew he wouldn’t let either of you forget this night anytime soon.

“Who knew our boy genius could lay it on thick?” Emily added, a laugh in her voice. “Maybe we should send you two undercover more often.”

Rossi, who had been observing quietly from the sidelines, simply smiled knowingly. His eyes twinkled with understanding, as if he could see right through the situation, recognizing more than just a job well done. There was something in his expression that suggested he knew this was more than just a successful operation—that perhaps there was something else between you and Spencer.

As the team began wrapping up, gathering evidence and securing the unsub, you felt a strange sense of relief and uncertainty. The mission was over, but the kiss, the tension, the way Spencer had held you—it all lingered in the back of your mind.

For now, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the successful outcome of the case. But as you glanced at Spencer, you knew you couldn’t ignore what had happened between you two forever. There would be time to address it later, to figure out what it meant, but for now, you were content to let the night end on a high note, with the unsub in custody and your team’s playful banter filling the air.

—

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the occasional hum of the air conditioning unit in your hotel room. You lay there, unable to sleep, your mind replaying the events of the evening over and over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer—his touch, his kiss, the way he had looked at you as if there was something more.

Then, just as you were beginning to drift off, you heard a soft knock at your door. It was so faint that you almost thought you imagined it, but then you heard it again, followed by your name whispered in a voice you knew all too well. Spencer.

You shot up in bed, your heart racing, quickly and quietly making your way over to the door. You opened it, and there he was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

“Spencer? What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Spencer didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his hands reaching for your face, pulling you into a fierce, urgent kiss. The force of it took you by surprise, and you stumbled back into the room, the door shutting softly behind him.

His hands were on you, impatient and demanding, as he began to strip away your clothes, tossing them aside as he moved with purpose. You knew deep down that you should stop this, that it was dangerous to blur the lines between your professional and personal lives even further. But the need in his kiss, the desperation in his touch, made it impossible to resist.

Before you knew it, you were both undressed, and he was pushing you down onto the bed. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Spencer?”

His response was immediate, his tone firm, almost commanding. “I really don’t want to hear you talk.”

And then you felt it—a fabric pressed against your tongue. You recognized the taste, the feel of it. Your underwear. He had stuffed them into your mouth, silencing you as he leaned over you, his eyes dark with intent.

Your body reacted to his dominance, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you as you surrendered to the moment. Whatever this was between you two, it was undeniable, unstoppable.

You nodded quickly, the realization of what was happening sinking in fast. You were ready to submit, ready to give in to Spencer completely, knowing that, in some twisted way, you owed this to him after everything that had transpired between you. The strain, the unresolved emotions, the unspoken words—all of it led to this moment, and you were helpless to resist.

You let Spencer maneuver you with ease, guiding you until your head was resting on the pillows, your body laid out beneath him. His touch was firm, deliberate, as he held your wrists above your head in one of his hands, his grip possessive yet reassuring. There was a weight to his movements, a sense of control that sent a shiver down your spine.

As he began to enter you, the sensations overwhelmed your mind. You felt the warmth of his body, the intensity of his focus, and the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you. For the night, you allowed yourself to believe in the fantasy that you were still dating Spencer, still wrapped up in that intoxicating bubble from the club where the world outside didn’t exist. It was a dangerous illusion, but one that you clung to, desperate to feel something other than the emptiness that had plagued you for so long.

You knew, deep down, that this was temporary, that you would regret it when the sun rose and the reality of your situation came crashing down. The intimacy, as fulfilling as it was in the moment, would leave you more vulnerable than ever before. But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, letting the connection with Spencer fill the void that you had been ignoring for years.

In the quiet darkness of the hotel room, with only the sounds of your shared breaths and the gentle rustling of the sheets, you gave yourself over to the moment. The rawness, the passion, the way Spencer took control—it all felt like an escape from the complications of your real life, a brief respite where nothing mattered but the two of you.

But even as you lost yourself in the sensations, a small part of you knew that this night would leave a mark. The ache in your chest would linger long after the pleasure faded, and the distance between you and Spencer would only grow wider once the night was over. Yet, despite the inevitable pain, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not tonight.

—

When you woke up the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, you found yourself caught in a strange, bittersweet limbo. There was a part of you that wanted to laugh at how absurd it all was—how quickly things had escalated, how out of control it had felt. But there was also a part of you that wanted to cry, to let out the frustration and the hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

You had fallen asleep in Spencer’s arms, his warmth and presence offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved so desperately. In those moments, nestled against him, you had felt something—an undeniable emotion, one that was both comforting and terrifying. It was a feeling you weren’t ready to admit, not even to yourself. But it had been there, undeniable and potent.

But now? Now you were alone. The space beside you in the bed was empty, the sheets cold where Spencer had been. He had left, and the realization of that hit you harder than you expected. You sat up slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of what had transpired. The room was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside, and it only amplified the hollowness inside you.

You glanced around, half-expecting to find some sign that he hadn’t really gone, but there was nothing. No note, no trace of him. The memories of the night clung to you, the way he had kissed you, the way he had dominated you, the way he had made you feel. But those memories were all you had left. The reality was that he was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces of whatever this was.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to make sense of your emotions. In the end, you took a deep breath and pushed the emotions down, burying them deep where they couldn’t hurt you—at least not right now. There was no time to dwell on what had happened, no time to analyze the why and the how. The team would be leaving soon, and you needed to get ready, to put on the facade of professionalism and normalcy.

—

On the jet ride back to Quantico, you had slipped seamlessly back into your professional persona. You weren’t ignoring Spencer, but you were treating him just like everyone else on the team—polite, distant, focused on the job. The mission had gone well, and the team had hoped that the tension between you and Spencer might have eased after last night. But as the hours passed and you continued to keep your interactions with him strictly business, it became clear that whatever barrier was between you wasn’t going to crumble that easily.

Once back at Quantico, you quickly packed your things at your desk, eager to get home and sleep in your own bed. Hotch had given the team the day off, and everyone had cleared out quickly, tired from the case. The bullpen was nearly empty, save for you and Penelope, who was still working in her batcave.

As you were turning to leave, your thoughts occupied with getting home, Spencer suddenly appeared in front of you, startling you.

“Spencer! Jeez, hi,” you said, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected presence.

His expression was unreadable, his eyes hard as he looked at you. “How did it feel?” he asked, his voice low and cold.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“To wake up alone?” he repeated, his tone sharp and biting. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the bullpen, leaving you standing there, stunned and reeling from his words.

For a moment, you were too shocked to move, the tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of his accusation sank in. He knew exactly how to cut you, and his words had hit their mark, reopening the wound you had tried so hard to ignore.

“Y/N…?” Penelope’s voice broke through your thoughts, gentle and concerned. She must have heard the exchange, though you hadn’t realized Spencer’s words had carried.

You turned to look at her, the tears spilling over as your emotions finally broke free. You tried to hold them back, to keep it together, but it was no use. The pain, the regret, the guilt—it all came crashing down at once.

“Can I have a hug?” you choked out, your voice trembling.

Penelope didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in a heartbeat, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. Her arms were strong and steady, grounding you as you let the tears flow. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push you to explain. She just held you, letting you cry in the safety of her embrace.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Penelope murmured, rubbing your back soothingly. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

You clung to her, grateful for the comfort she offered, even as the ache in your chest remained. Spencer’s words still echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you. But for now, in Penelope’s arms, you allowed yourself to grieve—to grieve the connection that had been lost, the pain that had been caused, and the uncertainty of what the future held.

—

The next workday at the Bureau felt oddly normal—too normal. Spencer walked in with a knot in his stomach, dreading what he might face after his outburst the previous day. He knew what he had done was wrong, petty, and incredibly immature. But in the moment, the release had felt good. It had felt like a small, bitter victory, even if it was at your expense.

But as he walked through the bullpen, he couldn’t shake the unease. He hadn’t seen you yet, and the thought of running into you now, after everything, made his chest tighten. He hesitated as he passed the liaison office, taking a deep breath before stealing a glance inside. To his surprise, instead of seeing you, he spotted a familiar blonde head bent over a file.

“JJ?” he said, his voice filled with confusion as he stepped into the doorway.

She looked up with a bright smile, her blue eyes warm and welcoming. “Hey, Spence!”

Spencer blinked, still trying to process what he was seeing. “I thought you were on maternity leave for another month?”

JJ laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was, but I just had to come back. I was going stir-crazy at home. You know me—I can’t stay away for long.”

“That’s—well, that’s great,” Spencer stammered, caught off guard by her unexpected return. “It’s really good to have you back.”

JJ’s smile softened as she looked at him. “Thanks, Spence. I missed you guys. But don’t worry—I’m not back full-time just yet. I’m just easing back into things.”

Spencer nodded, still trying to wrap his head around the sudden change. “Well, it’s good to see you. We missed you too.”

As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Spencer’s thoughts kept drifting back to you. If JJ was here, it meant you were probably somewhere else in the building, avoiding the BAU office. The realization filled him with a mix of relief and guilt. He knew he should apologize, should try to make things right, but he wasn’t sure where to begin.

For now, though, he focused on the small comfort of having JJ back. It was a welcome distraction, even if it didn’t erase the tension that still lingered between you and him.

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uranometrias · 9 months ago

Text

✮ꜜ : ❛ you're still a traitor : criminal minds x fem! reader [ pt. 1 ]

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader (unrequited) | spencer reid x bau! reader | s7 team x bau! reader (platonic)

summary: being in love with your boss was hard. especially when there were so many factors surrounding you that made the possibility of being with him, out of the question. for starters, there was your age gap, and hotch was a stickler with baggage that he couldn't quite disclose to you. hotch was a fantasy, always out of your grasp, that is until emily dies. in the four months that followed emily's death at the hands of ian doyle, you found yourself living a life that you'd only ever dreamed about. hotch was careful, but the proof was right in front of your face as he went out of his way to care for you while you grieved. how stupid of you not to realize something was horribly wrong. but now emily was back, and hotch was back from reassignment in pakistan, and you were all on trial, and absolutely nothing makes sense except for the bitter understanding that you were a pawn in a game that in so few words was "way bigger than you." but at least you had spence.

content warnings: this is literally a barrel of angst. reader breaks the skin of her palms with her nails. mentions of slight! anxiety. follows the plot of "it takes a village" aka the iconic "this is calm, and it's doctor" episode. flashbacks x present day! spencer has been crushing on reader for as long as she's been crushing on hotch. hotch is NOT romantically interested in reader. slight! hotchniss vibes (but that's up to your interpretation. jj x reader angst! reader does not react to emily's return well. mentions of unit transfer / bureau resignation. spencer confesses to reader... open ending making room for a part 2! heartbreak, drinking, crying. best friend! penelope garcia + derek morgan. reader has a sister & niece.

read part two right here.

Your leg shakes violently as you sat just outside the court room, hands balled into tight fists as your nails press deep into the callousing skin of your palms. You couldn't say you were nervous, as far as the previous case was concerned you'd done everything you could to save Declan. You'd take whatever suspension they'd throw your way without batting an eye. You didn't regret the part you played, no, you just regretted the team that you were apart of.

It had been a crazy seven months. You remembered when things turned left, back when Emily started acting weird. She was shorter, snappier, she had less patience with any of you. Long gone were the days of wasting your time with jokes and innuendos. She had a lot on her mind, a lot none of you were privy to, and you remembered how you'd stretched yourself. You'd all tried so hard to show her you were there, to let her know that you could be trusted.

Your face contorts into a scowl, it had become your new resting face in the last few weeks. God, you hated how stupid and naive you'd been back then. Now that everything was out in the open, it was almost too obvious where the deception began. What was the point of taking care of people who had no trouble treating you like some disposable pawn piece to be moved to fit their whims. Damn. You were crying again, you'd been doing that a whole lot too lately.

You scrub furiously at your face, and you hate your teammates a little bit more. JJ had gone first, face devoid of any timidity or uncertainty. Long gone were the days of Jennifer Jareau the Liaison, she was a profiler now, one of you. When she'd come back, you'd been ecstatic. The unit hadn't been the same since she was transferred, you'd missed her so gravely. But now, now the sight of her just reminded you of the secret you'd been holding on the tip of your tongue.

Hotch wasn't the only one who had known about Emily.

You feel a hand moving to rest on the top of your thigh, and you flinch violently. You sniffle audibly, eyes moving to rest on Penelope, your God-given solace. Your best friend. She, Derek, and Spencer were the only ones who wholeheartedly understood what you felt. But even still, Hotch hadn't used their feelings to make them blind, the way he had done with you. He'd played you like a goddamn fiddle, and you'd let him. Because you were weak, stupid, grieving, and in love.

Hotch had never been in the cards for you, not that you weren't beautiful, gorgeous, an amazing agent. You had the stamp of approval of both Agents Gideon and Rossi. Erin Strauss had been (by your request) rejecting every request of transfer any other unit had tried to offer. You were an asset to the bureau, and a major part of this team. You'd been around since the beginning. You'd witnessed doe-eyed Spencer Reid join at age 23, full of facts and anxiety.

You'd seen Derek blossom and break out of his play-boy persona, and become someone that other branches of the law fought to have. You'd been around for so long, you'd witnessed so much, and Hotch knew that. Which you suppose is what you allowed yourself to believe was the reason he'd never shown signs of reciprocating your feelings. He was respecting your future, leaving your options open. But those were the delusional musings of a girl in love with someone she can't have. Hotch wasn't into you, and you knew that.

So why, why, why did you let him convince you of the opposite? For even one measly second? And, yes, of course in the grand scheme of things you understood why he did what he did. But it didn't make it hurt less. In fact knowing his duty to Emily outweighed his duty to anything else just made this whole ordeal feel more like a slap to your face. Penelope gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze, and you're pulled from your running mind. You blink, registering her worry.

"Are you alright?" she asks, and it's the first time anyone's asked you that since the first day. You know they were giving you space to cope, which only seemed to reaffirm your feelings of betrayal and loneliness. "We'll get out of this, alright? And we'll-we'll be able to be a complete family again." she proceeds, and serves you right for believing someone understood what was going on. They'd all misunderstood you. They thought your behavior was fear of the team being dismantled. Some profilers you were surrounded by.

"I'm fine, Garcia." you say, and you can't bite the snippiness if you wanted to. "I just want to get this over with, and get the hell out of here." you add, and you're standing up, Penelope's hand dropping limply as you move your seat. You find a more isolated corner, plopping back into the uncomfortable seat, as the legs squeak slightly. Your leg is back to shaking, only now you've taken to chomping on your bottom lip. You don't imagine Penelope's hurt expression, you know without a doubt that you'll cave. And you can't.

Not this time.

Your phone chirps in your pocket, and you jump once more. Your jumpiness was a new attribute triggered by the amount of sleep you hadn't been getting. Pulling it out you see that it's a call from your big sister, and you curse under your breath. You were supposed to be watching your niece so your sister could pick up an extra shift. None of you had really expected for things to go this far.

"Hey..." you wince, because you can hear the heaviness of your feelings ladled over your words.

"Hey, are you alright? I got a call from Spence." and you're surprised. You look up, searching for the brunette anywhere in the vicinity, and find that he hasn't shown up yet. It's a bit of a shock, especially for someone as punctual as Reid. You did however spot JJ still meandering about, and she's not looking tense at all. Despite your anger towards her, you couldn't deny that she'd quickly fallen into the role of a profiler. It fit her almost like a glove.

"Spencer called you?" you ask, and you hear the tension in your sister's sigh. You imagine that she must be exhausted. Your sister did a lot, and managing a blossoming family was hard. Your niece was five, and she had a new addition to the family on the way. Which was why it was so important for you to be there on the days she needed you to watch your niece.

"Yes, he said something about..." your sister lowers her voice. "Emily." she questions, and you find your head nodding despite the fact she can't see you. "Are you alright?" she asks again, and this time she emphasizes how important it is for her to hear directly from your mouth the state of your wellbeing. Your sister seemed to always see right through you, it was a wonder she wasn't the one in the FBI.

"I'm-" you trail off before you can lie. "I'm sure if they could they'd disband the unit." you whisper, and you look up just as Derek is exiting the court room, Penelope looking terrified as she takes his place. Derek scans the room before he spots you, and his eyes soften. JJ approaches him and the two seem to chat animatedly. Still they look so serious, there was no room for smiles and banter today.

It's not long though before they're looking at you again, and you know that they know. Your self isolation wasn't something you were exactly being subtle about. You immediately look away, focusing in on what your sister was saying. "Bad decisions or not, they're no good without your unit." she says, and pride still manages to swell up inside of you. "You guys do good work. You work because you're together, everyone plays their role." she proceeds, and it's then you shatter.

Play your role. What role exactly did you play? Hotch was the stoic leader that somehow seemed to play the role of pseudo-father so well for every member of the team, with the exception of Rossi and Derek. Derek, was the shoe-in for promotion. The older brother who teased you relentlessly, but would fight til his last breath to protect you, and he always did. JJ, the pretty girl. The one who everyone on the team at some point had been attracted to. But more than that, she was resilient, a subtle glue that kept your unit running.

You quickly slot through everyone else's roles in your head, and huff. What were you except the odd-woman out. The dummy with a crush on your unit chief, and too much knowledge for your own good. You supposed that was why Hotch had to distract you with exaggerated gestures. If you got out of your feelings and really thought about it, you knew that if anyone on the team was going to see through the smoke, and uncover the truth about Emily, it would be you.

So he had to handicap you. What better way than by hanging the possibility of a romance in your face. Still, it was cruel. Just more proof that this was not the family you made them out to be. "Yeah, I'm not so sure." you reply, and you can hear how disgruntled you sound. It smacks you like a ton of bricks, and it's then you truly realize just how hurt you were by everything. Your sister sighs deeply, and it makes you second guess yourself. Were you being irrational? Unfair?

"I know what Hotch did." she begins, "And it was awful to play with your feelings like that." she expresses, and you feel validated. "And nobody's expecting you to just welcome Emily back with open arms after months and months of thinking that she was dead. You were deceived, and I want you to feel however you want, okay?" she says, and you don't respond, mostly because it feels rhetorical. "Just don't do anything rash without thinking it through alright?"

You don't know what she means by that so your eyes roll. "I think we're well past that, if they find us guilty I could lose my job." you remind her, and she chuckles. You don't find it funny, you can't. Your love for the job outweighed a lot of things, so it had been a no-brainer to help Derek seek out Ian Doyle. You wanted his head spinning on a pike, and you weren't planning to take no for an answer.

two weeks prior.

You were sitting across from Derek, steaming mug of coffee in your head that was more french vanilla creamer than anything else. You held the staged photograph of Declan and Louise. Derek's holding an identical photo, a heady sigh escaping him as you both rack your brains for some sort of bullseye. Something that would point you right in the direction of Declan. "Okay, Emily needed to get Declan a new identity." Penelope says as she walks into the office. She sits in the chair right beside you, arm full of stress balls and files. "So she must have used someone that she trusted." she proceeds.

"Alright, well that's a short list, but it's probably not even written down." is Derek's tired reply.

"Even if it was, she's been so many places, with so many different points of contact. " you speak up, and you take a sip from your coffee, praying it kicks in and wakes you up a bit. "It's not gonna be super easy to track and narrow them all down." you say, and you realize your mistake just as Penelope is placing a file in your hands.

"Oh, tell me about it. Two columns, domestic and imports." she says as she passes the other to Derek, who's looking at you with an amused smile stretched across his face. Serves you both right for underestimating the genius of Penelope Garcia. "I accept your apology, cutie." she says, leaning into you as you grin, smacking your lips in a kiss.

"Hey." JJ's at the door of the office, all three of you turning to look her way as she beams brightly. "Have you guys seen, Spence?" she questions, and you remember how you'd offered to bring him a coffee as a respite from the garbage water they served in the bullpen. He'd shut you down politely asking to reschedule as he was going to be spending his day at the Firing Range. You understood the need, he wanted to protect himself, and the team. He had to get better.

"He's at the firing range." you and Penelope speak in unison, making eye contact, as hers narrow. You knew instantly she would have questions about why you of all people knew Spencer's whereabouts.

"Again?" JJ questions as you shrug your shoulders, her eyes flitting towards you.

"Ever since Prentiss died, he..." Penelope speaks your thoughts.

"Right." JJ nods her head. "Uh... did you guys just get a new case?" she questions, hands clasping together in front of her.

"It's just an old one." Derek answers.

"Do you want some fresh eyes?" she asks, and it's painfully clear that she's still figuring out how to feel more like the team again.

"Not just yet." Derek denies, and he's polite, but you knew why he was being this way. You were all for keeping anything related to Doyle under wraps until you were further along.

"Ok. Um, well let me know." she hums, and then she looks back at you. "Y/N, can I..." your eyebrows raise as she trails off. "Can we talk? It'll only take a second." she hopes, and you look to Derek and Penelope for a moment.

"We won't do anything big without you." Derek promises, and you nod, closing the file, and handing it off, before you stand to your feet. You follow JJ out of the office, and down the hallway, stopping just before you reach the heart of the bullpen. You look to her expectantly, a bit confused, but not on edge. You had missed JJ, and in the two months she'd been back, it'd been pretty hard to get some real time with her. You'd hoped a break in the case would help to change that.

"Everything okay, Jaige?" you ask, and you witness how she exhales in relief right in front of you.

"God, it is now." she says, and your eyebrows jump up. She seems to understand the confusion on your face as she lets out a chuckle, dispelling more of her own tension. "You've been calling me Agent Jareau since I got back... not JJ and definitely not Jaige." she explains, as it seems to register for you. "I guess I was just a little worried I'd done something to make you mad at me." she admits, and she's clearly sheepish.

"Oh." you chuckle yourself, and you reach out to hold her shoulder. "No, you've done nothing wrong." you promise. "I've just been a bit in my head these last few weeks, but I'm really glad you're back." JJ beams at your words, and all the remaining tension in her posture dissipates instantly.

present day.

"Hey, everything alright?" you look up, pulled from your thoughts at the presence of Spencer Reid. He's holding a medium cup of a steaming liquid that you can only assume is coffee, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "I remember you asked me a few weeks ago about coffee." he holds it out, and you're quick to press your phone to your shoulder, neck craning slightly as you take it.

"Thanks, Spence." you mumble, and you can practically hear your sister's smirk from the other line. "Could you just give me one second, I'm talking to my sister?" you question, and Spencer nods his head, eyes widening in understanding. You smile politely, and he beams back at you, pretty eyes seemingly brightening before he's making his way over to Derek who's smirking like the nuisance he is.

"Hey." you mumble once he's gone, and your sister is snickering. For some odd reason she'd been dropping hints that maybe the guy on the team you should be setting your sights on was Spencer. To your defense, it wasn't like he wasn't attractive. You'd be an idiot to deny his boyish charm and good looks, but after he'd sat you down and admitted he had a crush on JJ, back during his second year, you'd sort of blocked any potential attraction towards him out of your head.

Now he was just Spence.

"Hey, I should go. I just wanted to check in, Spence made me aware of everything so I've got everything figured out on this end." she promises you, and you nod once more despite yourself. "Just think about what I said, alright? It'd be a shame for you to leave behind such a good job." she finishes, and you don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. "Call me later?" she questions, though you know she's telling you more than asking.

"I will." you reply, and she sounds pleased as she exhales.

"I'll talk to you soon." and then the phone is clicking. You adjust your grip on your coffee, using your free hand to grab your phone, and place it down on your lap. The coffee smelled good, it was from that cute shoppe that sold different pastries and always smelled like cinnamon. You'd been there with Spencer and Penelope a handful of times, and they always made your coffee exactly how you liked it. Still, Spencer had never ordered for you so you await a mishap.

The first sip warms you up instantly, and you're knocked flat on your ass by how on point the drink was. Your eyes snap upwards, looking across the lobby towards Spencer, who's awkwardly sitting in a seat, Derek beside him. JJ was gone now, but you figured she was probably with Hotch and Emily, the three of them had been attached at the hip since the team was "back together". You're certain them being gone was what led you to standing to your feet.

You walk towards Derek and Spencer quietly, slipping into a seat next to Spencer as Derek leaned up against the wall. "I didn't know that you knew my coffee order." you whisper, and Spencer turns to look at you. He offers a half smile, you were certain you'd be passing a lot of those back and forth until the court proceedings were done with.

"Of course I do." he shrugs his shoulders. "I pay attention when you talk." he promises, and you wonder why he had to like JJ, and why you had to like Hotch. On paper, and off paper Spencer Reid was the perfect candidate for boyfriend, plus he never pretended to be into you to keep you from finding out the truth. You both fall into silence, there's not much else to say, but you let his words repeat in your head. I pay attention when you talk. It makes your stomach twist.

"You alright over there, pretty girl?" Derek's voice barely reaches over a whispered volume. It seemed you all were feeling the dreary aftershocks of an ordeal like the one you'd found yourselves in. You look up at Derek tiredly, and you don't understand why he's asking you this, not until you feel the scalding heat of hot coffee singing your skin. Two sets of worried eyes are drawn to your cup, it's squished in your palm, brown liquid streaming everywhere.

"Shit." you hiss, and the cup falls to the floor, you're quick to clutch your burnt hand. God, you were really torn up over this.

"I'll get this cleaned up." Derek promises, and he looks at Spencer as if he was communicating something he didn't want you privy to. Spencer falters, only for a second before he's reaching out for your forearm, and guiding you to your feet. You trail after him, walking down the long corridor, listening out for the telltale sign that Penelope was done, and they'd be calling you next. On your route you pass JJ who looks concerned as she looks between the two of you.

"Spence, Y/N?" she says, and you avert your gaze, you're not sure if you're more angry or embarrassed.

"Sh-she spilled some coffee." Spencer explains, but he doesn't stop walking. "Shouldn't be more than a first degree burn, if she soaks her hand for five minutes, everything should be fine." he is passive as he speaks, eyes never quite meeting hers as he continues to lead you.

"Let me take her." JJ offers, and both you and Spencer are quick to offer denials. She looks hurt but masks it quickly. "It's not like you can go into the girl's bathroom with her, right?" she says and it's then you both realize you've got no other choice. He looks to you, trying to gauge how you'd feel about it, and you sigh. Maybe this was for the best, you could finally get things off your chest with JJ. It was only fair. He seems to clock the instant you've decided, and concedes.

"I'll be right out here." he promises, and you nod slowly. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't get the chance to.

"Spence." JJ says his name a bit more sternly, and he resists the urge to cut his eyes in her direction. He ignores her long enough to take in your ailed hand, he saw the way the skin began to redden and swell. He seems cross as he passes you off to JJ, and you feel a bit silly being fussed over for something as minute as a coffee burn. JJ's earnest in the way she takes you to the nearest women's restroom. You hiss the second the cold water comes in contact with your skin.

You don't say anything to JJ though, losing your nerve the second the two of you were alone. She looks like she's waiting for you to say something though, eyes brimming with some sort of unease. She was reading you, using her new skills to profile you. You suppose that's exactly what pushes you to finally speak. "We said we'd never profile one another." you remind her crossly, and she's sheepish. "Just because you're doing it in your head doesn't make it any less invasive." you keep your wrist in place, hissing silently.

"If you would just talk to me I wouldn't have to go that far." she counters, and you blink. Fair, but you had every right to keep your distance from her. Just because the rest of the team was still more or less unaware of JJ's role in harboring the secret of Emily, you'd read right through her.

"What's there to talk about exactly?" you ask. "None of us want to be here dealing with this." and you take the route of the naive girl.

"I'm not talking about with the trial... and the senators." she shakes her head, and she's almost pleading as she tries to catch your eyes in the mirror. "I'm talking about Emily." she deadpans. "Everything that happened?" she proceeds. "You've hardly said a word to her since she came back." she doesn't want to come off like she's scolding you, and so she takes in a breath before her tone can become defensive.

"I don't speak to ghosts." and it's a quiet little dig that she hears all the same. It forces a tense silence to wash over the restroom, the only sound slicing through the awkwardness is the water rushing from the spout. JJ clears her throat, blinking a few times as she adjusts your wrist, allowing the water to evenly coat your burn. Only a few more minutes of this and you could make your grand escape.

"That's not fair." she finally voices her thoughts with a deep sigh.

"Isn't it?" you snap. "Seven months we thought she was dead." and you suppose that was a mistake of hers, getting you started. "Pretty lucky that you were off at the Pentagon, right?" you ask sourly. "Or was it lucky that you were in on the whole scam? I mean you were at the funeral, but you didn't have to cry, you didn't have to grieve." you accuse, and JJ's jaw slackens, clearly surprised at your outburst.

"I lost my friend too, okay?" she counters and you scoff.

"Did you?" you argue. "All those nights I called you crying, all those texts, those check ins... how long did you know Emily was still alive?" you demand, and JJ's feeling cornered, and her heart rate is picking up. She knew there'd be mixed feelings about this, but she'd never expected to ever be at odds with you. You, Spencer, and JJ rounded out the younger crowd on the team, it was your job to stick together. "Answer me." you insist, and you sound so crushed as you speak.

"I knew the whole time." she answers, and you nod your head, because of course you already knew.

"Exactly." you sneer. "You're a liar." you hate how angry this whole thing makes you, but you can't deny it. They'd played with your feelings, all of them, and now you were meant to behave like nothing was wrong. "Did you know about Hotch?" you ask, and JJ flinches. She doesn't answer for a while, and the water seems to rush even louder in your ears.

"I told him it wasn't smart." she finally answers. "But we needed to ensure that Emily wasn't at risk, it was harmless... just some flirting to keep you from getting too close to the truth." and JJ is speaking as if this wasn't some major breach of your position as coworkers and alleged friends. "He'd never cross the line." she reminds you, and the reminder that yeah, Hotch would never be with you makes you wince.

"And he didn't." she says this like she knows for certain. "It was flirting, Y/N. it didn't mean anything, we just needed you to..." and she trails off when she sees how destroyed you look at her admission. "Y/N..." she trails off, and you inhale sharply.

"Don't." you exhale, and you snatch your hand from her grasp. The cool air of the bathroom immediately attacks the welts blooming on your hand. You don't have time to pay them any mind.

"We just wanted to protect you... and keep Emily safe in the process. The more of us that knew Emily was alive, the more of a liability we'd be while Doyle was still on the run." she says, and you suppose in the grand scheme you understand. As profilers, as special agents working for the FBI they'd done great work. As your friends, as people you'd considered family for years... they'd betrayed you.

Plain and simple.

"Congratulations, you did exactly what you meant to." you say dully, and you sniffle, though no tears are set to come. Instead you feel more anger blossoming in the pit of your gut. "I hope it was worth it." and it's dramatic, but you deserve the dramatics, sidestepping the blonde and leaving her behind just as Emily is stepping inside. She looks at you wide-eyed, before she sees JJ standing there seemingly frazzled.

"Is everything okay?" she questions, and you don't offer her an answer, instead leaving the restroom as your earlier words ring in your head. I don't talk to ghosts. And you don't, and despite your history you'd never allow yourself to. You find your way back to the seats that led to the courtroom, Derek was gone, the only person still there was Spencer. He stands up as soon as he hears your shoes.

"Where's Derek?" you ask quietly.

"He left with Garcia." he answers quietly. "I guess they're dismissed for now. They're in with Dave now." he explains, and your eyes shift to the door. More than likely you or Spencer would be next.

You sit down, and Spencer follows you, sinking back into his seat as his legs just barely brush against yours. "Are you scared?" you ask, and Spencer's head shakes.

"Are you?" he shoots back, and you look away from the door.

"Not of this." you admit. "But of what comes after." you add and Spencer's pretty brown eyes are swimming with confusion. "Can we really all bounce back from something like this?" you ask, and it's rhetorical, but he answers you all the same.

"We've come back from worse." he reminds you, and that faint smile is worming back onto your face.

"Sure we have." you agree numbly. Spencer's eyes drop to your hand.

"How does it feel?" he asks, and you follow his gaze with a shrug of your shoulders. He doesn't look pleased by this approach, and it makes you sigh.

"Just feels like I ran some water over it." you admit, and Spencer chuckles. "A bit anticlimactic if I'm honest with you, Doctor." and you're partly teasing, mostly because it's so easy.

"You'll need some sort of petroleum jelly... there's some pretty good products that aren't at all carcinogenic like the leading brands." he begins on a tangent, and it makes you smile a bit bigger. "That with some gauze is the perfect remedy for such a mild burn." he proceeds and you look down at it. There's a moment of silence between you, before he's talking again. "Can I ask what happened?" he whispers.

You hum, almost like you're pretending you can't hear him.

"With the coffee? Was it not good? I tried to follow your order exactly." he says and you squeeze your eyes closed.

"It wasn't you or the coffee, Spence." you promise him, and without thinking you reach out, small hand resting on his shoulder. "The coffee was perfect." you insist, and he relaxes, but not enough. "I guess I'm just thrown about all of this." you proceed. "No matter how much I try to remind myself that they did this to protect Emily... that their deception was for a good reason, it just makes me angrier. Why is it that I have to rationalize being angry?" you question.

"I have to reign my feelings in for the sake of the team." you're careful not to grow loud. Spencer's eyebrows are pressed inwardly, head shaking.

"You don't." he denies you quickly. "You shouldn't." he corrects.

"You're right." you agree, and your silent for only a second. "I wish everyone could be like you, Spence." you say, and your words surprise him. He feels this familiar wave of adoration that always seems to swallow him whole whenever he was around you.

"Really?" he knows it might be pathetic, to be hopeful for something like this. The chance to hear what popped in your head whenever you thought of him.

"Yeah." you say firmly, and he tries not to look too eager. "You're so smart." you tell him, and he knows this, but it still feels nice hearing it from you. "And you're always nice to me." you add with a quiet laugh. "And you'd never lie to me would you?" you ask, and in truth, it's not a fair question. Spencer wasn't in the position the others were in.

"What do you mean?" he asks, and he fears it may be the wrong response. You don't even react, at least not that he can tell.

"Nothing." you settle on, head shaking from side to side. "Forget I mentioned it." and he doesn't really want to remind you that his memory quite literally makes that impossible. "I heard that you weren't fighting the suspension." you say conversationally, and he's surprised, mostly because the only person he'd told about that was Derek. Which meant you had been talking about him when he wasn't around.

"I guess I just stand by everything we did." he tells you, and your hand still hurts a bit, but it's definitely a problem for a later version of you.

"Me too. I'm glad we got Doyle, and Declan's safe." you exhale, and despite your anguish towards the team, you meant every word.

"And the team's back together." Spencer himself doesn't sound so convinced. You look over at him at this, your own unconvinced expression slowly cracking through his attempt at a cool facade.

"Is it?" you ask, and Spencer's face softens, a small little frown taking over his otherwise usually content face. He couldn't admit it now, mostly because it didn't feel like the right time, but he paid attention to you. He knew all about your complicated feelings for Hotch "I don't want to be on a team with people who purposely keep me in the dark about things." you ask, and Spencer pauses.

"I'm sure they wouldn't if they had another choice." he offers, and it's not how he feels at all, but it's what you need to hear.

"You don't believe that." you deny, and Spencer can't fight his chuckle. "Or maybe you do, you've always been good at seeing the best in people."

"Oh, do you think so?" it's a bit of a surprise. With your job description it would've made more sense for you to tell him that he saw the worst in people. He felt it was a fair thing to say that he was exceptionally good at his job, but it's then he recognizes what it is you're truly saying, or at least alluding to. It makes his face heat up immediately, cheeks blossoming a rosy red that makes him want to roll his eyes.

"Of course." you promise, and then you're looking at him again. Your face is one of the prettiest he's ever seen, and it's not even subtle. You seem a bit uncertain of your own allure though, which to him is a major shock. "You're like the best person ever." you add, and he expects you to snicker or show some sign that you were joking, but you don't. Bad for him, because his deluded mind full of fantasies starring you would take words like those the wrong way.

"I think you're the best person ever..." he's whispered this, but you hear it all the same, and he's lucky enough to witness the way your entire face morphs. Despite the bleariness in your eyes, you beam brightly. He hates though, that you start to cry. It starts with one tear slipping down your cheek and dripping into your lap. The onslaught comes right after, and before you know it, you're choking on sobs.

"God..." he hears the bitter tang of self-loathing that attaches and weaves itself into your otherwise honey-filled tone. "You're making this so hard, Spencer." you huff, and you scrub at your face harshly. He doesn't understand, but he's too frozen in place to ask you what you mean. Lucky him, you seem to know that you've got explain a bit, so you do. "I'm gonna resign." you say this quietly, sniffling as more tears fall. Spencer feels like he's misheard you.

He wants to have misheard you. He flounders a bit, and he's mentally scolding himself, because he has to hurry the fuck up and say something. "You can't!" and he's scolding himself again for sounding too eager. You jump a bit at the outburst, and he winces right along with you. "We just got everyone back." he reminds you, and you exhale, head nodding in understanding.

"I know." you promise him. "Why do you think this is so hard. You think I want to be the asshole that turns the unit on its head?" you ask. "But I can't stay here and pretend that everything's fine... or act like I don't feel thrown about all of this." you proceed, and of course, Spencer understands, he's upset he was lied too as well.

"I understand." he admits with a sigh, and you let out a quiet noise of relief, almost like you were worried he'd be upset with you. He assumes this is just him being delusional again. You look like you have something sitting on the tip of your tongue, so he stays silent to give you the room to say all that you need to.

"Have you ever had feelings for someone?" you ask. You chuckle at the look he shoots you, "Not just for a second, Spence." you proceed. "I mean like... take your breath away, kind of almost-in-love feelings." you indulge, and Spencer's keen to shut his mouth. Yes, is the loud and resounding answer that rings in his head, because foolishly he'd allows you to captivate him like the siren you were almost three years prior. He'd be a dummy to tell you such now though.

"I-" he blinks harshly, eyes feeling too dry. "I can't say I have." he lies, and he remembers your words from earlier, how you'd praised him for being someone who would never lie to you. You don't seem to notice his deception though, and if you do, you're too in your own head to comment on it.

"Good." you say with a shuddered breath. "They're nothing but a headache, especially when the person doesn't want you back." you exhale the words, and it's like a dagger is being lunged into his chest. How dense could you possibly be with all your super smarts?

"Did something happen with Hotch?" he asks, and now it's your turn to be embarrassed, face pinching up as you choke on a breath. "I don't mean to pry, if it's personal... it's just that-" he trails off, seemingly waiting for you to berate him or tell him to back off. You don't, instead your nose twitches, and you begin to look at your shoes. "Y/N?" he nudges you with his elbow, and it's light.

"No." you finally say, head shaking. "I thought maybe..." you trail off, more embarrassment slicing at you as you cringe. "But it was all a ruse, just a way to keep me from getting too close, and figuring out everything about Emily before they wanted us to know." you say and Spencer's eyebrows furrow.

"They?" he pries, and you look at him like he's silly.

"Hotch and JJ." you answer plainly, and it takes Spencer a second. JJ who he'd went to for comfort for ten weeks? He blinks at you, and you shrug. "So you see... anyone that could take my feelings and use them to manipulate me... are they really worth sticking around for?" you ask, and Spencer doesn't want to validate you in this way. He wants to be selfish, he wants you to stay on the team.

He thinks about how devasted everyone would be. How devasted he would be to walk into the bullpen and find that your desk was empty.

"I don't want you to go..." he admits, and it's quite pitiful, the sadness that soaks the words like gasoline. You find yourself chomping on your lip again, nails pressing into the cuts of your palms, and Spencer's catching your bad habits in real time.

It's a bit invasive, the way his hand surges out, and stops you in your tracks. "Please don't do this." and you're not sure if he's talking about leaving the unit, or if he's referring to the gashes littering your hands. When he holds your palm out flat, and rubs his thumb across the bleeding indentations, you find that you understand quickly.

Every few seconds it's ebbing with more droplets of blood, and he's quick to wipe them away like they offend him. Just as he's moving to say something else, the doors to the courtroom are opening, and Dave Rossi is exiting, his eyes immediately on you and Spencer. You must look foolish, hands intertwined as you stare wide-eyed at the team's senior agent. It's probably why Spencer is dropping your hand as you're snatching it away from his grasp.

You still find that your eyes are quick to appraise one another. He's looking at you, and you're staring back, mouths parted as if you'd been caught. Had you been caught? Had there really been anything to catch? You don't have time to answer, because you're being called next. You frown at Spencer, standing to your feet as he feels his pulse threaten to leap to disrespectful speeds.

"Y/N..." he calls after you, and you stop for a second. Eager eyes fall back on him, and he's trailing off, because the look in your eyes says it all. If you got out of this without being fired, you could imagine a world where quitting the FBI no longer made you sick to your stomach. Silence befalls the space, and he shakes his head after a beat. You look disappointed but not surprised, inhaling deep and audibly as you march towards the court room.

Spencer doesn't know what you're going to say, but he hopes recalling all you'd been through in the last few weeks will be enough to make you stay. At least until he has the courage to ensure that you leaving the team doesn't equate to losing you entirely and completely.

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parfaitblogs · 5 months ago

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can I ask a blurb of post prison spencer and sunshine reader? She works in the BAU as the media liaison and when she rescues him in the episode 300 he looks at her and is like angel? Am I in Heaven?

spencer reid x sunshine!reader. fluff/hurt/comfort. also angst if you squint. i should’ve just slapped smut in here to make it a quinfecta! 0.5k words. gn!liaison!reader. set during '300'.

a/n: thank you for sending me back into orbit by getting me to rewatch those two episodes. i need spencer reid biblically. unfortunately that's not what this blurb is about. but i was audibly barking every time i pictured him. i am terribly sorry for keeping you on edge about when this was going to be posted </3 i wasn’t sure how happy i was with it for the longest time. thank u for the request ♡

spencer reid who accepted his fate the second he was taken hostage. because honestly, the likelihood of his team finding and rescuing him in time was slim to none, and he had lost wars to hope too many times before.

spencer reid who tried to stall his death with a speech, trying to dull the uncomfortable ache in his chest thinking nobody was coming to save him. maybe he could lie his way into believing his team had found him, and he would picture their faces before he inevitably died.

spencer reid who definitely did not expect the awfully loud gunshot — one, then two — ringing throughout the air, followed by panic and yelling. who wished he could've been relieved to see each face of his team slowly appearing in his view, followed by more gunshots, and the promise that he was safe.

he had already accepted death.

but, spencer reid who's entire facade changed the second you came into view. no gun in hand, because you never were expected to need one, which was even more horrifying to him than the fact that he had been milliseconds away from his own death.

spencer reid who stared at you like he was but a planet and you were the sun he was orbiting, something he knew he'd get teased for later. but right now you were here and he was watching you attempt to unbuckle each leather strap holding his limbs into place, strained laughter escaping him every time you failed because your hands were shaking so hard.

spencer reid who's face fell when you finally met his gaze to get the leather strap holding his head in place, and he could see the tears brimming your eyes and he could hear the sniffles you were intaking to keep your emotions at bay. an achingly painful contrast to the facade he was used to seeing on you.

spencer reid who asked "what's wrong?" and who's heart ached when your response was "i thought i was going to lose you". spencer reid who's heart probably shouldn't have then stuttered like that in his chest at your admission, and he definitely shouldn't have allowed the rush of hope at your words.

but, worse than that, he realised he had accepted his death without thinking, and if he died, he was leaving you and perhaps that was worse than any situation he has been in before, in all fifteen years he's at the bureau.

and you, who's vision was awful from the tears you were attempting to keep at bay, yet you stared at him for a beat, taking in every graze and bruise on his face the best you could to commit them to memory, before wrapping both arms around him and pulling him into you. spencer reid who sobbed in your arms; a scenario you had never even considered the possibility of because spencer reid did not cry anymore, and prison had fractured him in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend. but he was here, and he was crying again, and sad sight or not, he was feeling.

spencer reid who thanked you over and over again for finding him, because no, he really didn't want to die.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s blurbs ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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reidswhre · 2 months ago

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Hii! Do you still take requests? I have an idea but i don’t know if anyone has done anything similar. Spencer meets the reader for the first time and does the whole pathogens handshake speech. Reader is like ok got it! And does the french greeting la bise. Reader is confident/flirty and spencer is rendered speechless

spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: just flirting

a/n: in my country we greet everyone this way and i didn’t know it had a name :0 i searched it and my mind blow up loll tysm for sending it hope u like it ^^

Working as a detective in the NYPD didn’t used to be too risky; it was mostly arrests or things like that.

But recently, there was a series of murders (which you were assigned to) that got pretty intense, so the BAU was brought in to help with the case.

“Follow me, the team just arrived,” your boss said, poking his head into your office. You followed him right away.

“Good afternoon, I’m Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Morgan, and our communications liaison, Agent Jareau,” a tall man with dark hair introduced them.

“Nice to meet you. I’m the lead agent,” you said after introducing yourself by name.

“Pleased to meet you. Dr. Spencer Reid is in the conference room, going over the case,” he informed you.

“Go fill him in on what we have,” your boss ordered, and you quickly obliged.

You headed to where Dr. Reid was—at least, that’s what the agent had called him.

You walked in and saw him standing in front of the whiteboard, looking over all the information you’d gathered this past week.

“Pretty tough, huh?” you asked as you approached him.

“What?” He turned to you, looking a little confused. “Oh, yes, it is. All of these cases are.”

“They are.” You introduced yourself by name, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied, looking at your hand a bit awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t usually shake hands.”

“Oh,” you raised an eyebrow and lowered your hand, curiosity instantly piqued.

“I didn’t mean to offend! It’s nothing personal—I just…I don’t shake hands with anyone.” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly nervous.

“I’m not offended,” you replied with a playful smile, leaning against the table. “Why not?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Do you have any idea how many germs get passed around with a single handshake?” he informed you. “Actually, it’s safer to kiss.”

His comment made you raise your eyebrows. “Really?” you asked, smiling with a bit of playful intent.

You leaned in, brushing your cheek against his in a pretend kiss. la bise.

“Is that better, Dr. Reid?” you whispered softly near his ear before pulling back and leaning against the table again.

“Oh- I- uh- no,” Spencer stammered, clearly flustered.

That made you smile, and you decided to tease him a little.

“No? What do you mean by no?” you raised an eyebrow, moving a little closer.

“I didn’t mean ‘no’ exactly, it was—it’s just—umm…”

“Because if that didn’t work, I could give you a more appropriate one” you replied with a grin.

Spencer’s eyes went wide, and you were sure you could see him blushing from miles away.

You laughed. “I’m joking, Doctor,” you gave him a meaningful look.

“Are you?” he blinked rapidly.

“Would you like me not to be?” you asked, smiling.

“Well, I—” Spencer was cut off by his boss arriving in the doorway.

“What do we have?” Agent Hotchner walked in, taking off his jacket and settling in, signaling that your little game was over.

“Thirst,” you said, stepping away from Reid with a small smile. “I’m going to get some water. Anyone else?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Hotch replied.

“And you, germ boy?” you asked, looking at Spencer.

“No- I- I’m fine,” he looked away, clearly flustered.

“Of course you are,” you said, turning on your heel to leave.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #request #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #mathew gray gubler #mgg #mathew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fanfiction #x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 8 months ago

Text

twenty four, birthday boy | s.r. x fem!reader

“you look very handsome, birthday boy.”

spencer leaned his head back to see you standing beside his desk with your hands behind your back. dressed in a lavender short-sleeved button up paired with a simple black maxi skirt and your simple flats, a subtle smile pairing as your accessory, you looked radiant this morning.

“thank- thank you.” unconscious hand reaching up to mess with the giant birthday cake hat derek forced onto his head. it felt kinda nice to be treated like a kid on his birthday for once.

your eyes went up at the action then back to his face, “got you a present.” taking a small sage green wrapped box with a baby blue ribbon attached from behind your back, giving a tiny shake to it. fingers curled gently to hold the mystery gift outstretched.

“i tried to remember if you mentioned owning it or wanting to. i kept a receipt in cause though.” smile waving just a bit, it made his heart stutter a beat.

“i’d keep it anyway, it was from you.” his own smile twitching from nerves. his statement caused your smile to widen, cheeks scrunching up your eyes. “open it, spence.” you were the only one who calls him that.

finally grabbing the box, his slim fingers brushed over your painted nails before you pulled your arms away, tucking them back behind your back. spencer took his time peeling away the plastic wrapping and shiny bow, wanting to preserve the gift in its entirety. next came a cardboard box and once that was gone it revealed a cartoon figure.

“oh no way!” it was a bobble head figure of the fourth doctor. it was still inside the packaging and spencer was debating if he should keep it inside or take it out and proudly display it. then he noticed the small folded paper taped at the top.

“it’s just a small note slash birthday card.” speaking up after spencer went silent too long. he looked back towards you, “wanted it to be personal.” shrugging off the kind words and action.

slowly peeling the tape from the packaging, spencer set the gift aside so his full attention would be on the words you wrote from your heart. licking his lips then flipping open the small paper he was met with your cursive-print handwriting, he’s been able to understand your scribbled words after the first case.

happy birthday dr. spencer walter reid. yes i know your middle name and yes i got it off garcia, i wont tell though. it’s been a wonderful few months since you’ve joined the department and i couldn’t ask for a better new friend. (don’t tell pen, but you might be my number one now) to many more years together as a family. -love y/n l/n <3

a/n: @bringitonhomejohnb a wish has been granted

#erin writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x liaison!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

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A Rarity

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You have a rare genetic code called heterochromia. You have two different colored eyes that you have tried to suppress ever since you got seriously bullied in middle school. Just when you're about to present a case, you find your contact case is missing.

Square Filled: friends with benefits (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Today is the day you start your new job as the team’s liaison. You’ve always been part of this since JJ was the main person to deal with it. However, she’s been promoted to profiler which means all the slack now falls on your shoulders. You love interacting with families and comforting them when they most need it.

This is the first case when it’s just going to be you, so you’re kind of nervous about it. Before going into the briefing room, you decide to touch up on your makeup and hair as if you’re going in front of millions on the TV to present the case. You take out your contacts and leave them to rehydrate on your desk while you go to the bathroom to fix your makeup.

Once you’re done, you make sure not to look into anyone’s eyes as you make your way back to your desk. The first thing you do is put away your makeup. The second thing you do is grab your contacts to put them back in but they’re not where you left them.

“Shit,” you curse and go through your entire desk. “No, this isn’t happening.”

You’re panicking at the thought of not having your contacts. You don’t need them to see, in fact, you have 20/20 vision. No, you use them only for color because you have a rare thing called heterochromia. Your right eye is bright blue and your left is bright green. You were born with two different eye colors. No one in your family has this genetic but you, so you have no idea where it came from.

Ever since you were enrolled in school, you were bullied for your eyes. It didn’t start getting bad until middle school when kids were more focused on appearances than learning and making friends. Kids in elementary school actually found them to be cool but only because they were little kids who didn’t know any better.

Your peers made you hate this part of you even though you can’t do anything about it. As soon as you started high school, you begged your mom to get you colored contacts. You’ve been wearing them ever since even into your adult years. You choose a natural blue to make yourself look more normal. Had you not had those, you would for sure get bullied even worse than in middle school.

The longer you went wearing them the more people thought your eyes were just one color. No one at work knows about this or so you thought. The only person who might know about this is Spencer but that’s only because you two have been friends with benefits for quite some time now. It helps to have one to work off the stress from work. Plus, he’s an amazing lover so there’s a plus.

You two aren’t dating just fucking a lot.

While he was getting ready this morning at your place, you were in the bathroom rushing to do your makeup. You hadn’t put your contacts in just yet so if he were to walk in the bathroom, he’d see your eyes for what they truly are. He was getting ready and peeked through the open door to see if you were close to being done when he saw the beauty in your eyes. He didn’t say anything about it so as not to embarrass you.

He walks into the bullpen from the break room to see you panicking.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Where are my contacts? I just had them on my desk.”

“I didn’t know you wore contacts,” he lied. You refuse to look at him without them in. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. You have glasses, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“But what? What’s the problem?”

“Never mind,” you groan and continue looking for them.

“Hey, look at me.” When you don’t, he sets his coffee down on the desk and grabs your chin gently. He makes you look at him but you close your eyes so he doesn’t see their colors. “Open your eyes.”

“No,” you shake your head.

“Darling, open your eyes,” he says gently.

He would be the person to find out eventually. You sigh and open your eyes to show him the rarity you have. Now that he gets to see them up close, he’s falling more in love with you. You might not have feelings for him but he certainly has them for you. He only keeps you as a fuck buddy because if he were to tell you the truth, he might lose you.

“What beautiful eyes you have.”

“They’re ugly,” you sigh and pull away from him.

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone I’ve ever known,” you scoff. You look at your watch and notice the time. “Shit, I have to give the case out.”

“No one is going to notice.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re so bright. They stand out.”

“Fine, if they make comments, I’ll handle it.”

You have no choice but to go in there without your contacts. You sigh and grab your things before heading to the briefing room with Spencer. Everyone is already in there waiting so you immediately get started. As you’re talking, you notice Spencer watching you with a smile on his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he mouths to you.

Your cheeks heat up but you don’t let it show how happy he makes you. The briefing only lasts thirty minutes before Hotch announces wheels up. When everyone is packing up to get out of there, you notice something sticking out of Spencer’s back pocket.

Your contact case. You want to be mad at him for taking it but maybe it’s time to let your rarity shine.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fic #cm fic

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pathologicalreid · 3 months ago

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lock and key | s.r.

in which an act of violence - and subsequent serious injury - brings the truth to the surface and initiates a change

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: abduction, car accident, knife, stabbing, stabbing with knife, greek mythology, jareau!reader, rewrite of 8x12 "zugzwang" (just because maeve isn't here doesn't mean i'm letting spencer get by trauma-free), the girls who get it, get it, secret relationship, hospitals, not proofread, yes the zugzwang thing gets dropped but that's because it was never the kidnapper it was always the replicator, did i miss something probably but i can't see straight rn word count: 4.86k a/n: i rewrote this entire fic because i decided i didn't like it two hours before it was supposed to go up. and now here we are. almost 5k words later. it's 2:30 a.m. going back to my jareau!reader roots and rewriting an entire episode.

He frowned at the text that you’d just sent him. Just one word, a chess term. Spencer wasn’t entirely sure you knew what it meant, more so, he wasn’t sure why you’d text it to him at seven-thirty in the morning.

He’d expected you to beat him to the office this morning, knowing you left his apartment before the sun had the chance to rise so you could get a fresh change of clothes and repack your go bag. Your apartment was closer to Quantico, so it wasn’t presumptuous of him to assume you would make it there first.

Spencer stood corrected when he walked in, finding your desk completely devoid of your active presence. He looked around for you briefly, knowing you sometimes liked to catch up on sleep in JJ’s old liaison office when you were the first to arrive in the morning, but all he found was your sister, a scowl on her face while she spoke with Hotch in his office.

The two of them noticed him lurking, Hotch opening the door and nodding at him in greeting, “Let’s meet in the roundtable room, Garcia’s waiting for us.”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked, following them around the walkway to the briefing room, only receiving a shake of the head from JJ in response.

Penelope looked disturbed in a way that Spencer hadn’t seen her in years. That much made sense to him, the only reason Hotch would start a briefing before the rest of the team got here was if there was a case that matched the level of urgency. “This morning the FBI system was tripped because Y/N’s location was glitching. It flashed from Los Angeles to Moscow to Cancun until finally settling on an unmarked location somewhere in this general area.”

Spencer frowned, looking at the map that was being displayed on the screen in front of him, “That’s nearly eight hundred miles of ground to cover.”

Sighing, Garcia nodded, “Because of whatever the UnSub did to hack into the locator in her phone, we can’t get an accurate location. I’m working on refining it, but that could take hours.”

A pit settled in Spencer’s chest as he looked over at JJ, a dark, hollow look on her face as she stared at her phone. He couldn’t commiserate with her—nobody knew the two of you were even dating. “JJ,” Hotch spoke up, “You were the last person to see her before you left yesterday, did she say anything about going to meet someone or do anything?”

JJ blinked in confusion, “No, she didn’t tell me about any plans or…” Her voice trailed off, “I think she was seeing someone knew. She’s been acting different, being cagey about plans.”

Blake and Rossi walked into the bullpen, their arrival catching Hotch’s attention as he stepped out of the roundtable room to speak with them. Spencer followed, “Hotch.”

“I know, Reid,” he said, holding his hand up in a waiting gesture. Of course, he did, because in your tirade to hide your relationship from the general public, you had insisted on telling Hotch, wanting to get the HR paperwork out of the way.

Spencer sighed, the pit in his chest growing exponentially as he turned back into the roundtable room, slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Garcia, “I got a text this morning from Y/N,” he explained, his eyes following his teammates as they filtered into the room. “It came in after her phone’s location was hacked.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at Spencer, “Why would she text you first thing in the morning?”

He shrugged in response, “I’m not entirely sure,” he half-lied. “I do know what the word used in the message means. Zugzwang. It’s the term used in chess when a player realizes they’ll inevitably be checkmated.”

“When did the two of them break up?” Hotch asked, looking over at JJ for the answer to his question.

They were headed to speak with your ex-boyfriend, there was nothing they had found that would implicate him in your disappearance, but it was the best chance they had at a lead. Spencer bit his tongue to stop himself from revealing the answer.

JJ hummed, “A while ago, a year maybe? She didn’t really talk about it, one day, she just stopped bringing him up.”

Sixteen months, nearly to the date, it was a few days past at that point since the night you’d called Spencer in tears, needing him to pick you up from the same house that the SUV was pulling up to now. The two of you had been together for nearly a year, on and off again, before he finally snapped.

Some of the things he said to you were things that you’d never repeated, even to Spencer. Pulling into the driveway made him feel sick to his stomach as he recalled the way you cried in his apartment that night.

“Reid?” JJ’s voice broke through his reminiscence, she had already gotten out of the car, standing outside and waiting for Spencer to step out before the three of them approached the porch.

He reached into his pocket for his credentials, staying at the back of the pack while Hotch knocked on the door before pulling his badge out. Your ex-boyfriend opened the door, “Hello?” He was confused, rightfully so—it wasn’t every day that a group of FBI agents showed up at your front door. He eyed Hotch and JJ before he met Spencer’s eyes. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, “You.”

Hotch’s head snapped to the side, glaring at Spencer for a moment before facing forward, “Garrett Graves?” The Unit Chief’s voice was commanding, staring at your ex with a preconceived notion that your relationship had fallen apart because of him. He was the leader of the team, and he took any attack against the members of his team personally.

“Yes?” He said, obviously bewildered at the sight of the agents on his porch, “Where’s Y/N?”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, JJ looked up at Garrett, “That’s what we’d like to ask you.”

Spencer had to give him credit, Garrett looked absolutely stunned at your sister’s revelation, but nothing that Spencer knew about him led him to believe he’d act innocent if he was truly guilty. He had the personality type that would confess to the abduction but lead the BAU on a wild goose chase from an interrogation room.

No, the person who had you didn’t want to be caught, and he didn’t want the team to find you. This interview would be a waste of his time, there was absolutely no information about you that Garrett could provide. Spencer knew every important, esoteric detail about you—your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t have anything useful for him.

Garrett peered back at Spencer, “I’m sure anything you want to know, he can tell you,” he said, bitterness altering his tone.

Hotch looked over his shoulder to Spencer, “Why don’t you sit this one out?”

Ignoring the fact that he had just been told to kick rocks, Spencer retreated to the SUV, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the passenger door while JJ and Hotch were invited inside the house. He hoped you weren’t somewhere outside, the temperatures dropped to below freezing at night this time of year, and he didn’t remember you wearing a jacket when you left his apartment this morning.

Finally alone—away from your sister, at least—Spencer had a moment to process the reality of his situation. You were missing, likely abducted as a result of your job, and he didn’t even have an exact time to go off. His chest felt tight in a way it hadn’t in years, the sheer joy of knowing he had you in his life felt like it was fading away because he didn’t have you. He had no idea where you were, and for a brief moment, he considered the fact that the loss of you might kill him too.

You were the only one who knew how to bring him back down to earth anymore. Snapping him back to reality whenever he started to spiral.

This time, the sound of his phone ringing pulled him out of his Charybdis of fear, “Hello,” he answered the phone, holding the device to his ear as he pretended the last five minutes of thought had never happened.

“Hey, kid,” Derek greeted over the phone, an unavoidable solemn note in his voice. “Garcia managed to track down Y/N’s car, it’s down on a side street, it looks like she was avoiding the highway.”

Spencer looked down at his shoes, “The exit that she needs to take to get to her apartment closes for construction at night.” The explanation flew from his mouth before he could remember that he wasn’t supposed to know that, but his brain was moving at an altered pace right now, unable to think past anything other than finding you.

The other line was silent for a moment, “Right,” Derek said doubtfully. “It looks like someone rear-ended her,” he noted, the sound of cars rushing by cluing Spencer into the traffic.

“That time of night on that road it would’ve needed to be on purpose, there’s no reason to be following someone that closely on an empty street,” Spencer processed the information, pulling up a map in his head of the area where your car was. “So, it was a bump and grab,” Spencer thought aloud, it wasn’t a particularly sophisticated crime, but with all of the other evidence, he hadn’t expected it to be.

Morgan reaffirmed his suspicions, “I’m surprised she wasn’t more on edge that early in the morning. What do you think she was doing all the way out here anyway?”

His stomach churned; you had been leaving his apartment. It was his fault you had been out there at that time. “It was early, her inhibitions were down, she was probably tired,” he rambled off. “Besides, you heard JJ, she thinks she has a boyfriend,” he bit out.

“Uh huh,” Derek responded, “And what do you think about that?”

Leaning his head back, Spencer stared at the sky, “Did you find her phone? Was it in the car?”

There was no way Derek didn’t get why Spencer ignored his question, but he moved on anyway, “Yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s no sign of that text message.”

Another mystery to add to the plethora, Spencer closed his eyes and sighed, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Kid,” Derek said, stopping Spencer from hanging up, “Why did the text go to you and not JJ? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

Spencer paused, staring at the backs of his eyelids, “I’m not sure.” His answer, at least, was mostly truthful. It would make sense for the message to have gone to JJ, but JJ wouldn’t have understood the meaning.

That meant the person who sent the message likely knew about you and Spencer’s relationship, and that did very little to comfort him.

Helpless was not a term that Spencer liked to use to describe himself, but as the orange glow of the sunset sept into the BAU, he was beginning to feel that way. You were still missing, and with every passing moment, Spencer knew that the statistics grew increasingly bleak.

Stepping away from his computer monitor, Spencer made his way to the bathroom, he didn’t need to use it, but the silent hum of the fan was better than the constant chattering in the bullpen. Everyone imaginable had been pulled in on this case, everyone wanting to pitch in to find a missing FBI agent, but not for the first time, Spencer wished everyone would just shut up.

Turning on the tap, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed his face, focusing the cold water on his eyes, hoping they could hone his focus. He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it into his face as the door swung open, the familiar tapping of boots sounded from behind him until they stopped.

“You know, from my count, it’s been about eight months,” Rossi said, meeting Spencer’s eyes in the mirror, his hands in his pockets as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

Sighing, Spencer turned off the water, “Nine,” he corrected, foregoing his usual habit of providing more precise time frame. He wasn’t surprised that Rossi had it figured out, he always did, but still, he asked, “How did you figure it out?”

Rossi shrugged, watching as Spencer moved to throw away the paper towel, “I am very good at my job.”

Spencer laughed, a mixture between a laugh and a scoff as he looked in the mirror just to find that he still looked like a disaster. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he confessed, the first time he had let his desolation truly show to any member of the team.

“You’re gonna go back out there, and we are gonna do what we do best,” Rossi insisted, “We help the people who need us.”

Nodding, Spencer took a deep breath before heading back out to the bullpen, following Penelope through the glass doors as the technical analyst made her way over to JJ. It shouldn’t bother him that everyone went to JJ first, but it did, even though no one knew any better. “Does the last name Delphino mean anything to you?”

JJ frowned in response, “No, why—should it?”

His lips parted, not worrying about holding himself back, “Paul Delphino is the name of Y/N’s next-door neighbor.”

Garcia made a dinging noise, quickly moving on to continue her explanation, “Paul Delphino did not show up for work this morning. Why is this significant? His family, the Delphinos, owns a lot of commercial property in the DMV and a suspicious 911 call just came in from one of those properties stating that there’s a light on in a building that is slated for demolition tomorrow. The caller said they heard screaming coming from the building.”

Hotch looked around at the team, “Morgan contact SWAT. JJ, Morgan, you’re with me, Blake, Reid, with Rossi. Garcia, send the address to our phones.” Everyone was already moving as he distributed orders, heading to the elevator, and getting one step closer to you.

He’s been watching you for months. From the exact moment he moved into the apartment next to yours, Paul declared himself your soulmate. You recognized his name when you first met, and it came up in one of your late-night Wikipedia binges. Paul Delphino was a member of a disturbingly wealthy family, up until his parents disowned him for suspicious cash transactions.

Your head hurt like hell, drips of blood were encrusted along your hairline, and you were fairly convinced that you were dying. Your vision blurred around the edges when you followed the noise of your captor around the room with your eyes, your body slightly suspended in the air by your arms, standing on your tiptoes to prevent too much strain on your shoulders.

Seeking comfort in your memory, you remembered this morning, kissing your sleepy boyfriend as he tiredly asked you to stay, but you needed to go back to your own apartment. You told him you loved him, which was the truth, but you needed a morning with your things.

If needing a morning with your things led to an untimely demise, then at least the last thing you told Spencer was that you loved him.

Long, unending scratches ran down your arms and legs, they weren’t deep enough to scar, but as they scabbed over, they began to itch. Cuts and scrapes weren’t going to kill you, but the knife in your abdomen likely would.

You tried to keep yourself as still as possible, your personal experience with stab wounds was lackluster, but you knew that the blade could be preventing any further bleeding. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful that Paul couldn’t get it up, seeing as he elected to stab you for a sexual release.

The black of your t-shirt concealed any blood on your torso, so you weren’t sure exactly how much blood you’d lost, but judging by the way the world was losing its color, things weren’t looking good for you.

You breathed out slowly through your nose, watching Paul pace back and forth in front of you, faint lantern light being the only thing illuminating whatever hellscape you were in. “Paul,” you said, your voice nearly a gasp, “I need help.”

At this point, you had no idea what your plan was, seriously considering asking him to let you heal so that he could come back and stab you again in a few weeks. What else did you have to offer him? He scoffed in response, continuing his pacing until his steps faltered and he stalked over to you, causing you to flinch. “Did you call them?”

You groaned in pain, “Who the fuck could I have called?” You yelped like a wounded animal when he pulled the knife from your stomach.

He pointed the knife at your face, the metallic tang of your own blood filling your nostrils as you fought off a wave of nausea. “Why would you call the FBI on me?”

Tears flooded your eyes at his words. My sister’s here, you thought to yourself. Spencer’s here. “I didn’t,” you choked out, trying to remember how to breathe while you were dying.

Paul’s head snapped to look behind him, the rustling of SWAT and agents scaring him enough that he dropped the knife to the floor before taking off, leaving you alone in the room for someone to find.

Grunting, you tried to free your hands on your own, but you no longer had the physical strength to do anything except for hang. Tipping your head back in an attempt to keep your airway open, you called out, “JJ!”

You never thought the sight of your sister’s blonde ponytail would make tears run down your face, but as soon as she made her way into the room, saltwater left marks on your blood-stained face. “He went that way,” you jutted your head to the side, watching as the people in front of you stayed true to themselves. JJ ran off to chase Paul, and Spencer holstered his weapon to help you down.

“Hey,” he whispered, holding you while a SWAT member used a knife to undo your restraints, and Spencer caught you before your legs had a chance to give out.

You looked around the room, Morgan had gone with JJ to play cat and mouse, but Blake stayed behind with Spencer while they tried to get you sorted out. Everyone else would panic, announcing to the rest of the room that you were seemingly very slowly bleeding out would send the space into a frenzy, so you didn’t.

Spencer draped an FBI jacket over your shoulders, one of the spares that was kept in the SUVs.

“I need help,” you mumbled, your lips barely parting as you tried to save your strength to walk to an ambulance. “Spence,” you gasped, using your own hand to apply pressure to the wound.

He nodded, instinctively pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I know.” His voice was tight, and you hated yourself for doing this to him.

Groaning, you shook your head, “I’m bleeding,” you murmured, watching as realization set into his features, wavering between horror and determination, Spencer nodded at you.

“Reid?” Blake called after the two of you, now noticing the drops of blood that were where you were standing, now being tracked through the building by your shuffling footsteps.

Spencer didn’t answer her, his attention was entirely on you as he kept you upright, bringing you closer and closer to the flashing lights of the ambulance. The cold of the night burned your nose as the fresh air gave you a new sense of determination, matching Spencer’s. “I’m sorry,” you told him, but you weren’t sure he could even hear you as you approached the ambulance.

“You need to get her to a hospital,” Spencer insisted once the EMTs were in earshot, his chest heaving as your feet dragged more and more with every step. “Please,” he begged them, helping you onto a stretcher before hauling himself into the rig, a one-track mind thinking of nothing else other than getting you the help that you need.

Fifty-fifty were the odds that you gave yourself once you found a firm enough grasp on consciousness. There was a fifty percent chance you were going to open your eyes and be met with the harsh fluorescence of a hospital. There was a fifty percent chance that bastard Minos was going to send you straight to the Fields of Punishment.

You changed your bets once the scent of antiseptic burned your nostrils, you flinched at the smell, earning some soft shushing from the person on the other side of your eyelids. Sighing, you open your eyes just a sliver, “Hey, J,” you greeted her, your voice raspy from lack of use and probably a breathing tube.

Hospitals made your stomach churn, hunger and blood loss certainly contributed to the feeling as you tried to reorient yourself with the land of the living. “Hi, Ducky,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly, “You’re okay.”

Humming, you closed your eyes again, being awake in stages, “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” you murmured, smiling softly. “I feel like shit,” you groaned, trying to shift in the bed just to be met with a shooting pain in your abdomen. Pieces of the puzzle started coming back to you.

“The doctors said you were really lucky, the knife didn’t hit any organs or blood vessels,” he told you, giving you an update on your condition. Waking up in hospitals always gave you an odd feeling, being surrounded by a group of people who knew more about how you were doing than you did.

Frowning, you let your eyes flutter open, “Yeah, lucky,” you breathed. “That’s exactly how I feel right now.”

JJ smoothed some of your hair away from your forehead, “He’s dead, Ducky.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Did you shoot him?”

She shrugged slyly, “I let Morgan take the shot.”

That was a lie you let her get away with. If JJ had been the one to shoot Paul, there likely would’ve been an investigation opened because of your familial tie—Strauss would’ve had her hands all over that one. This way, there was no question about ethics. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, “I’m…” your voice trailed off as you noticed someone else in the corner of the room.

Following your gaze, JJ looked confused, “He hasn’t moved all night.” Spencer was almost comedically folded in a hospital chair, his wrist bent beneath his chin as he slept. “He rode with you to the hospital, and I’m not sure—”

“I’m in love with him,” you cut her off mid-sentence. You watched your sister’s confusion morph into shock as she looked from you to Spencer and back again. “Spencer and I have been dating for the last nine months, and we haven’t told anyone. It wasn’t because we wanted to keep anyone in the dark or because we didn’t want you to know, we just liked having something that was ours.”

Surprise was clear on her face while she searched her mind for clues into what you were telling her. You could tell she was thinking, you recognized her thinking face as well as you would if you were looking in a mirror. “You and Spencer?”

You nodded stiffly, moving your upper lip to adjust your nasal cannula, “Yeah. Me and Spencer.”

“So, when I tried to pin the two of you together last fall… you were already together?” She asked, recalling a night spent as a team at O’Keefe’s.

Giving her a lopsided smile, you held your hands out in mock surrender, “Yeah,” you echoed.

She just continued staring at you up until her phone rang, she apologized to you before picking it up, greeting Will over the phone, and stepping out into the hallway.

You tilted your head to the side, getting a better look at Spencer sleeping in the chair, “Spence,” you called out to him, remembering that you’re in a hospital and raising your voice is frowned upon, even as a patient. “Spencer,” you crooned, trying to wake him up without startling him.

He didn’t so much as budge, you tried again, but when he didn’t stir, you had to turn to violence.

With an aching arm, you grabbed a pen from the table attached to your hospital bed and flung it at him, gasping when the pen hit him in the head. His eyes opened, looking at you groggily as he stretched out his wrist.

“Hey,” he said, instantly over his irritation of being pelted with a BIC pen, “You’re up.” Spencer looked around the room noting no sign of your sister before he took her seat at your bedside, “You look good.”

You laughed slightly, the movement felt good spiritually, but physically it pulled at your stitches. “I look like shit,” you corrected him, you didn’t even need a mirror to know that.

Spencer smiled at you fondly, fingers carefully dancing along your hairline. His touch was tentative like he was afraid a single touch would break you, “You’ve certainly looked better,” he admitted.

The grin that bloomed on your face felt foreign after a day of pain, but it relieved you to stretch those muscles. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, noticing the way his hand faltered in its movements.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded you, not even sure which it he was referring to, he simply wanted to know you weren’t to blame for any of it.

You hummed, adjusting yourself on your pillows, “But I took advantage of you.”

In response, Spencer reached out a hand, placing the back of it on your forehead, checking for a fever as if you weren’t hooked up to a vital monitor.

Swatting his hand away, you looked at him solemnly, “No, I took advantage of your rational minds when I asked you for help outside of the warehouse. I made the decision to ask you because I knew you would help me first and panic second.”

“Honey,” Spencer said, gingerly moving strands of hair off of your forehead, “You are severely underestimating my abilities if you think I wasn’t panicking while I was helping you.”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, looking at him, “I wanna go home,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looked at you sadly, “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll bring you home and unpack the first load of your things in my place. You can sit on the couch and tell me where everything goes.”

“Spencer,” you said, gentle chide in your tone.

Your boyfriend hummed, “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you keep living in that apartment, did you?”

Honestly, you hadn’t had the time for the thought to cross your mind, but Spencer had always thought you lived in a bad part of town. He was right, of course, but this was a lot to digest all at once. “You don’t have to; I can just find a new apartment.”

He leaned over the bed, “It’s too late. I already asked Penelope to come over this weekend and help me go through my closet and dresser.”

“Did you tell her?” You asked him, reaching a hand up and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

Spencer shook his head, “No, but I suppose we’ll have to.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you raised your eyebrows, “Well, I told JJ.” You informed him of the fact that you’d abrogated the seal of silence on your relationship.

“Rossi knows,” he told you like it should’ve been news to you.

You shrugged, “He figured it out months ago. I thought you knew that.”

Your boyfriend frowned, “How would I have known that?”

“He profiled us, it’s like reverse profiling,” you explained.

Spencer chuckled softly, “You’re right, my mistake.” His brown eyes shimmered as he took your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

He never took his eyes off of you, watching you like a hawk at every moment—you weren’t even sure he was blinking properly. “What’s still bothering you?”

Shaking his head, he dismissed your question immediately. You felt safe with him, when your sister returned to the doorway, she faltered at the sight in front of her. Spencer was resting his head on your hospital bed, softly chatting to you about sea otters while your eyes fluttered shut.

Before you fell asleep, she raised her eyebrows and held up a thumbs up, asking if you were okay.

A brief nod in response was all you needed, smiling at her softly while she went back to her phone call.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober #jareau!reader

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Dirty Cops

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: With a dirty cop killing women in the BDSM community running loose you and Spencer have to devise an equally dirty plan to catch him in the act.

Warnings: Kintober Day 22 - S&M, BDSM themes, public sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, interrupted sex (both of them are cockblocked by the job).

A/N: I'M BACK! Sorry for the delay. This is the fic that has been beating my ass for about two weeks now. I fear I put too much detail into the case, and now I'm 6k words deep into a part one of a fic that should've been a 3k standalone.... oops! I hope you enjoy~

You sat in your office hands on your forehead as you desperately searched for the solution to your problems. 12 women, 12 homicides that VICAP had just spotted were easily similar. All in the same jurisdiction, and yet no connections made by their police force.

Something was going on in Tampa, and you needed to get to the bottom of it before another person died.

You supposed it didn't really help that some of the women had died in some pretty unorthodox ways. Strangulation, blunt force trauma, evidence of rope burns, and having been held hostage but not for long. Things your team was familiar with, but local detectives usually couldn't stomach.

As the BAU's brand new liaison officer, you got the job of convincing the local law enforcement to invite you in. They certainly weren't making it easy for you.

"Listen, I'm telling you there's something here, sir, if you'd just check the case files. We're only trying to help."

"You're trying to stick your nose in my departments business because you think your fancy FBI agents can handle my cases better than me."

"Sir, with all due respect -"

"Fine, you think you can come find whoever whacked these street whores you come and do it." You took in a sharp breath and paused, trying to make sure if you were hearing him correctly.

"What do you mean by whores, Captain? Choose your words very carefully." The warning was a bonus, knowing your voice had already done such a 180 he was probably regretting his previous word choices. As far as you knew none of the victims were wex workers. They mainly had office jobs or were even stay ah hone mom's.

"Each and every one of these women were jezebel's. Cheating, doing dirty things while showing their faces in church. They attended a certain establishment, not a Christian one, if you understand what I'm telling you, Miss."

"It's Agent, actually, and if you ever leave these details out of a case file ever again, I'll make sure to have your badge pinned up on my wall like a hunting trophy. Are we clear, Captain?" He stuttered out a yes, but you cut him off quickly.

"My team and I will arrive later today. Expect us for lunch." You said, slamming the receiver down and finally releasing a huff of breath you'd been saying for emergencies.

A whistle from the door finally draws your attention after a few minutes.

"Okay, Y/N," JJ clapped, looking impressed. "Who pissed you off?"

"Just the Captain at the precinct who just very politely invited us to consult on our next case." You threw the file in her direction as she set down the coffee she'd bought you, picking it up to peruse it. "Where's Hotch? I need to tell him we've got to go now before they change their minds."

"You know you want to say it," she teased as you began walking out of the office to find your elusive boss.

"Ha. Sure. Wheels up in 30, Jennifer." She raised her coffee in a salute to you as you finally took off, getting ready to go to war against an unhelpful police precinct.

–X–

With all the time you don't have, you end up briefing the team on the jet. You have to stand and grab the edge of the table as you try not to pace up and down the aisle.

"Twelve victims, all women between the ages of 20 to 28. He's crossing race lines, so I don't think they're placeholders." In all honesty, this case had pissed you off.

Twelve dead women and no one seemed to care until you phoned the department up yourself when VICAP flagged it all with you. Half of the cases had been closed for lack of evidence, and the other half so poorly investigated that you knew it was only a matter of time before they got boxed up and shelved too.

"The general public in Zephyrhills doesn't even know they have a serial killer. No one is being told to exert caution. There's no local press on this either."

"It says that these women were all killed, but there's no viable DNA they could pick up?" Morgan asks, looking up at you.

"That's right, no DNA evidence can be lifted, but spermicide was found on three of the victims."

"So our unsub was wearing a condom. He came prepared, and we were dealing with a serial rapist who has bridged into murdering his victims."

"There was no spermicide found on the other nine victims?" Emily looks up at you from her place at the small table.

"No. Rape test kits weren't run on any of the other victims because, quote: 'it was pretty obvious what had happened.' The precinct waited too long to collect the DNA evidence and now we don't have enough to locate, let alone prosecute an unsub based on DNA."

The whole team shared in your stressed look then, sending you matching sympathetic glances as they suddenly understood the herculean task you'd taken on trying to convince the locals to invite you in.

Not noticing the awkward silence that fell on the group, Spencer spoke up quickly from his place, standing beside you.

"You know, Zephyrhills is only about an hour away from Tampa. Tampa is the number one hook up spot in the US. It's residents boast on average 14 orgasms a month instead of the nationwide average of 12.5." He seemed pleased with the knowledge he'd just let everyone in on, as you looked back on him.

"Right. So our guy is trying to get his rocks off to out gun the rest of the country. Thanks, Spencer."

"It's relevant. It's says in the casefile here that three of our victims were last spotted on the highway making their way to Tampa, but then their bodies were found dumped in Zephyrhills. What if he's following them?"

"Spencer has a point, but if he's following them, what gets them to turn around? The cars were found abandoned in Zephyrhills, too, none of these women made it to Tampa." Hotch adds, and you make eye contact with him as your next thought comes to you.

"What could get someone to stop on a highway?" You ask, the question so simple, every single one of them knew the answer before you'd even finished asking.

"A cop." JJ filled in, and you all sat silently as you realised how dangerous this next case could truly be.

"We're about an hour out from arrival, everyone get some rest for now, I'm going to make a call to the nearest FBI Field Office, see if any of this is on their radar."

You slunked back to your seat at the back of the jet and sat down again, trying to get comfy but ending up just shifting multiple times in your seat.

Spencer joined you, sitting beside you, so close you could feel his eyes on you as your leg began to bounce. He put his hand over it and, with a strong hand, stilled the movement.

"Y/N, you did a good job connecting these cases." His voice was meek and calming, and you'd generally very much appreciate it if his hand weren't sending your body through some serious loops right then.

Your leg was on fire where he was touching you, his hand hot even through the fabric of your clothes. But when he pulled the hand away, watching your legs for any further tremors, you felt the need to snatch it back and replace it on your leg, certain that it would sooth the burning once more.

You snapped yourself out of it quickly. If you were thinking this way about Spencer of all people, then you really needed to get laid.

"Tampa's population consists of 43% singles, you know. Good statistics for getting laid." You twisted your head around to meet his eyes again.

"Tell me I didn't say that outloud." But his small smile dashed your hopes as you realised you just admitted to feeling incredibly horny because of his hand on your knee.

"If it's any consolation, I'm definitely the only one who heard it." His hand fell back to your thigh, and you twitched as it did, but you didn't move him.

"Fucking floridians and their goddamn 14 orgams a month," you muttered under your breath, hoping that he wasn't paying any attention to you now, seeing as how he'd opened up a book to hold in one hand.

"Lucky if I get even one and Florida man has 14 in him." You continue mumbling as you try to get cosy, closing your eyes and moving your head to find a comfortable position.

“You definitely said that one out loud.” He laughed, and you threw up your middle finger while letting your head fall back and your body take the rest it needed.

Without opening your eyes, you decided you needed the last word, a phenomenon you often found occurring in Spencer’s presence.

“A gentleman would pretend to not have heard that, Spencer.”

“I’m not a gentleman.” Annoyance prickled you at his reply, but you were too tired to say anything more as you caught up with the sleep that had been evading you for weeks.

–X–

Your landing in Florida comes almost too soon, and Hotch delegates tasks before you’ve even had the chance to properly get your feet beneath you after so long in the sky.

This case was becoming more of a mindfield with each of the pieces of information you’d received. Upon getting off of his call with the FBI Field Office closest to Zephryhills, Hotch had informed the team about an ongoing investigation into the police captain’s wife, whose pseudo-Christian church group were spewing vitriol about damn near every group you could think of.

“Religious discrimination, racism, sexism, homophobia and some pretty screwed up views of basically everything else, too.” Penelope had informed the group, pulling up the files that had been sent to her.

“It seems their most recent project is… Oh, how relevant. An adult establishment just opened up on the outskirts of Tampa, right on the highway that connects it to Zephyrhills. And from the boasts of the club owner on social media, it seems he’s telling anyone who listens that he’s not going to get shut down because the police are his main clientele.”

She sent through links to some of the posts to your iPads, and you angled the thing towards Spencer so he could take in the new information as well.

“Could we be looking at a religious motive to the murders? You said that the police captain called these women Jezebels. The name is biblical, she was a Queen who worshipped a false god and was defenestrated because of it, but over time, the uncapitalised jezebel, as you know, tended to refer to women with loose morals.”

“The motives could still be religious, but these women were raped. It says in the case files that Mrs. James’s church group is solely comprised of women, mostly the wives of the officers in the police force.”

Again, everything was leading you back to this stupid police precinct. You grimmaced as you realised that the next few weeks were going to be spent on the edge watching your back.

“Y/N, Reid, I want you both with me at the precinct when we land. Morgan, JJ, go to the church and interview some of the ladies there, see if you can’t push some buttons. Emily, Rossi, some of the family’s of the victims got in touch with the field office to request inquiries, go anf find out whatever you can about the last known whereabouts of these women.”

Now bracing yourself, you set your face in a neutral expression and let Spencer hold the door open for you as you walked into the station.

“Hello, we’re the agents from the FBI. Where can we find your captain?” You ask the receptionist at the chatting to her desk, but just as you finish your inquiry, another officer cuts you off, stepping half in front of you and demanding some files from the woman.

She stands awkwardly, sending you an apologetic glance as she scurries off to go and complete whatever busy work he’s just given her as you quietly seeth at his back.

The officer turns around to you and grins, sending you a smile as he walks off, apparently pleased with himself for foiling your attempts to find his boss.

“Y/N, keep a cool head. The captain’s office seems to be just ahead, I’m going to go and see if he’s there, smooth out some of the issues they seem to be having over here with our presence.” You nod and stay back with Spencer, who takes a quick seat behind you.

You don’t sit, though, too on edge and pissed off to get comfortable now.

The officers seem to ignore the two of you, bustling around you with no sense of shame, but you can tell they're watching you, hearing the low murmur of whispers.

When one of them decides to out their hands on you, though, you've decided you've had enough.

"Sorry, little lady, I need to get through. Important police business." He practically Leeds down at you as his hands grab your waist, meaning to move you aside to her you out of his path.

You don't give him the chance, grabbing his hands from your hips and twisting them behind his back quickly, shoving him face first into the nearest desk.

"Fuck, you little bitch. Come and control your partner, man." He struggles in your grasp, signalling to Spencer.

You grin as Spencer doesn't even look up at him, having pulled out a copy of War and Peace and settling nicely in his seat. You could tell he was on edge though, had seen the slight way his body tensed when you'd first been touched, and knew that if you'd needed it, he'd be there backing you up in a second.

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" He finally said, still not looking up from his book.

"Yes, get this bitch off of me."

"If you ask her nicely, I'm sure Agent Y/N would release you. As for me, I'm certainly not making her do anything she doesn't want to." He grinned as he said it, and you rolled your eyes slightly.

"Maybe if you told some of these other agents here to stop looking at her likes, she's a hunk of meat and greeted her respectfully instead of calling her… little lady, was it? Maybe then she'd be more generous." The man grumbled beneath you again, but before you could actually force his hand, Hotch and the Captain were exiting his office, obviously alerted by the crashing sound you'd made.

"Reid, Y/N, that's enough." Hotch signalled, and you complied, letting the man go and stepping back to Reid's side. He'd stood now, squaring his shoulders and making use of his quite intimidating height. You must seem tense, though, because the second you settle next to him, he puts a hand on your lower back, and you're surprised at how calm you instantly become.

Earlier, his touch had been fire and ice, and now it was relaxing you beyond belief. What the hell was wrong with your body recently?

"Thank you, sir," the officer said, straightening, dusting off his uniform as he levelled a glare at both you and Spencer. "I was beginning to think the FBI was just a bunch of sissy's and menstruators-"

"Cut the crap." Hotch barked out, and even you were startled by the sound. "Captain, if you or any member of your precinct says anything further about any member of my team, or god forbid puts a hand on them, I'll personally make sure this office is charged with conspiracy to murder for not investigating these deaths and aggravated assault of a federal officer. Do I make myself clear?"

The man seemed displeased at having his badge threatened for a second time in 24 hours, but nodded, dismissed the other officer, and finally shut up.

He has the female receptionist from earlier show you to the room you'd be using for your investigation for the next few weeks.

After making sure the room is secure, you place a call to Penelope and the others trying to gauge if they'd found any further leads.

"Some of the family members know exactly where they were going that night. One of them had a husband, said he was going with her, that they drove in separate cars because it was part of the thrill of it all." Emily's voice sounded tense and frustrated, and you could only sympathise silently before jumping in to ask her more questions.

"I thought they said it was an adult establishment? Does that not mean strip club?" You asked, perplexed at why the married couple would be going together.

"No, from what I can tell, it seems these women were members of the BDSM community, and that place… is somewhere they can practice."

"So even if we do somehow get another victim, any DNA test could be questionable evidence because they all left to have consensual sex." You sighed out and ran a stressed hand through your hair.

On your call with JJ and Morgan, you got much of the same.

"Oh, they're angry, alright. About the immigrants and the drug dealers, the homosexuals, and the jezebels. Seems they're working hard to get the club closed not just because it's a house of sin but also because the man who owns it might be an illegal immigrant."

"How quaint and Christian of them."

"Yep, and get this, the club's official title? Women for the Grace of God. There were no men in this group, Y/N. We're not going to find our unsub here."

Hanging up, you let your head hang, the fatigue of the case really kicking your ass.

"Spencer, draw the blinds, Y/N, lock the doors." Hotch ordered, and you listened, quickly making sure that no one was even close to the door. Returning to your seat, you noted the tense set of your boss's jaw and decided that whatever he had to say wasn't going to be good.

"Our unsub is in this precinct, which means we're not safe. But it also puts us in a unique position. They don't know we suspect them yet. We can force the unsubs hand."

You straightened in your chair, listening closer.

"You want to bait them out?" Spencer asked from his place beside you.

"I want you two to bait them out. You already got under a few of the officers' skin, push a few more buttons, and we could get our unsub to slip up."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" You asked, heart thumping in anticipation. You thought you already knew, but you needed to hear the words from his mouth to be sure.

"They're going after women in the BDSM lifestyle. Let's convince them that the two of you are also similarly involved."

He turned and left you with the decision then, leaving you and Spencer in the small room alone.

Your palms were sweaty, and you refused eye contact for a few minutes before he finally cracked and gave in first.

"It'd work." He whispered, suddenly closer than you remembered.

"What?"

"It would work. Whoever this guy is, he's getting off on dominating these women, seeing another man that he deems physically inferior dominating a woman who's already kicked an officers ass… that's enough to get him to crumble, slip up."

"So I'm supposed to just bend over and take it?"

"Bend over, yes, but I usually prefer women to be a bit bratty."

"What?" You found yourself blinking up at his face, even as the door swung open again, another officer walking into the small room you'd been left in.

You stepped away from Reid slightly, putting a more appropriate distance between the two of you before the man started talking.

"Well hello, I heard we had some feds in the office, thought I'd come introduce myself, but I didn't hear we had such a beautiful woman here, too. She a witness?" He directed the question to Spencer, but his leering eyes never left your body, trailing down slowly and disgustingly as you tried not to shudder under his gaze.

"I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, this is my partner, Agent Y/N. How can we help you?"

"Oh, I'm all set on my medicals, doc. You can't help me. Maybe she can if you let me take her out for a test drive?" Your blood boiled as he said those words, and you were about to send a cutting reply back to the man, when Spencer sat back down in his seat, snaking an arm around your waist to take you with him.

"Sorry, I don't lend out my private property." Stunned, you tried to act naturally about your new position, but his hand on your thigh slashes your brain capacity down by half, the only thought in your head running through Spencer Reid's possible sexual preferences.

"Oh, I see how it is. She's a slut, just not that kind. Okay, I'll bite, what's this one into? Choking, spanking? Careful, don't go too far or you'll be prime suspect number one for our perp."

"What are you insinuating, officer?"

"That these sluts you're asking about got in over their heads. Some women like it rough, practically beg for it. Poor guy just did what they were asking." Biting your tongue, you let the man keep digging his own hole, as Spencer kept him talking.

"Actually, contrary to popular opinion, in most sado-masochistic relationships, the submissive partner is the one in control. They have power to stop whatever role play is going on in the scene through safe words and actions, and the dominant role is more of a protective role, requiring a deep level of commitment and care for their sub." As he said it, he turned your face to his, hooking a finger under your chin and then stroking your face as you fell further into his body.

You almost forgot the other officer was there until you heard his grumbled reply, turning your head slightly to whisper in Reid's ear.

"Long shot, Doc." With that, you climbed from his lap, turning back to the other officer with a grin.

"Sorry, was there anything professional we could help you with? Or would you like to go and deal with your little problem alone in the men's bathroom now?" He turned on his heels and exited swiftly, face red with rage at your insinuations.

"Okay. I'll admit, it's going to work. But we're going to need to set up some bait and deliver the profile to them to make sure we have each and every one of their attentions."

"I'll notify, Hotch."

"Spencer, wait." He stopped at the door and turned back to listen to you. "Earlier when you said… when you mentioned that you'd prefer…" You tried to ask the question but it seemed the question just wasn't going to form on your lips so you simply let out a small frustrated humph and let him figure out the rest.

"Y/N, I… I don't know how to answer that question and still act professionally around you."

He left the room shortly after, and you couldn't help but feel disappointed at the distance suddenly kept between the two of you. You were beginning to become much too distracted by Spencer Reid.

–X–

"Let's have another rundown again, just so we're all clear on the play by play on this." Morgan said as you and Spencer were wired up, ready for your operation.

It wasn't exactly undercover, but it wasn't quite straight police work either, but here you were. After giving the profile earlier, you'd noted that three of the officers had seemed a little bit fidgety under all the new information they were getting, all three of them matching your profile.

Unluckily for you, they just happened to be the Captain in charge of the precinct, Detective Handsy from your first trip into the office, and Detective Dumbass, who'd asked you and Spencer all about BDSM earlier that day.

Penelope had filled you in on each of their backgrounds. The Captain was second generation police force, but court of public opinion had ruled that his father wasn't exactly an upstanding guy, a report corroborated by his mother's multiple accidents and trips to the ER. Detective Handsy had a misdemeanour sex crime expunged from his juvenile record for masturbating in public - on the unconscious girl who sat next to him on the bus.

Detective Dumbass seemed to be the police contact for all the local prostitutes. He'd busted at least thirty in three months, and each of them had reportedly tried to turn him in as the John who'd paid for their services.

"Run through it again." Morgan brought you down to earth as JJ finished attaching the wire under your clothing, handing you the small in ear so you could hear updates from the team.

"We walk into the bar, get a little too close for comfort than they'd like, then ask the bartender where we can have some fun around here. She's been prepped to give us the answer we want, and we set out on the highway where Rossi and Hotch are waiting in unmarked cars to give us an escort until our unsub takes the bait and tries to pull us over."

"Good, now, Spencer, do I have to show you where to put your hands, or do you think you've read enough to figure out how to push the right buttons?" From the grin on his face, it was evident he was enjoy pushing the younger man's buttons but you could tell he wasn't doing it maliciously. The two of you were both tense and on edge, and you needed that waylaid somehow.

"Trust me, Morgan, I think he knows where his fingers should go." You said before grabbing Spencer’s hand and dragging him out of the vehicle, not letting him go until you were right by the door of the bar.

You didn't really let him go either, it's more like he caught up to you and moved his hand from yours to your ass instead, pulling you closer into his body as you made to move inside the bar.

He hesitated a moment outside, though.

"Y/N, we haven't talked about boundaries yet. I'm going to have to touch you in there and-"

"You have my permission. For anything." Your words come faster than you expect, but they're there, filling the silence of the night quickly.

"Anything?" He asks, a small play lighting up his lips as he pulls you in closer. You can feel his breath on your skin, and you almost take back your words until he lowers his head. Your lips are barely an inch apart and getting slowly closer as you angle your head up towards him, when the bar doors swing open and he turns and pulls you inside instead.

You recover quickly, trying to focus on the twelve women who need to find justice rather than the many things you suddenly want Spencer Reid to be doing to you.

You slide into a booth at the edge of the bar but you'd canvassed the place earlier, knowing that while it appeared to be a quiet corner, every other table had a clear view of your actions in the corner.

Surely enough you felt a few pairs of eyes on you as you sat down, a little closer for comfort than you expected.

"Well, Penelope's sources were correct. It seems like every cop in town is here tonight." You said, whispering the words into Spencer's neck, just above where his own wire was placed, making sure the words were heard by both him and the members of your team left in the surveillance van.

"Show time," he said, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips as you stood. He gave your ass a quick slap as you made to walk towards the bar, and you sent him back a wink as you walked to order your drinks.

Ordering them quickly, you took a simple scan of the room, noting that all three of your suspects were social butterflies tonight. They all sat on different tables, but each had at least another man with him, and every single one of them was looking at you presitorially.

Returning to your seat with the drinks, you never felt their gazes leave you.

"Certainly caught their attention. What now?" You asked hesitantly, sliding up against Spencer’s body again.

"Now we give them a show." He said, snaking a hand between your legs and forcing them apart gently. You'd changed into a shorter skirt and smaller top before coming back out, needing to look the part of the slut they'd already deemed you.

You smiled up at Spencer as he stoked your thigh suggestively, but he never moved it further up.

"Spencer, kiss me." You said, eyelids heavy as you begged the man to take you further than touching.

"Why?" He asked softly in your ear.

"Because a few of our suspects are getting restless, and I want to see if we can tip some of them over the edge. Obviously you're smarter than trying to stick your hand up my skirt in public surrounded by a group of cops who would happily stick you in a cell for the night for public indecency, so you're just going to have to stick your tongue down my throat."

"Here I was thinking maybe you wanted it," he grumbled but complied anyway, grabbing the back of your head with his free hand and pulling you towards him. The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle the way his caresses were. It was hot and it was demanding, and when he pulled away after a minute and your lips followed his desperate for more he grabbed your hair and pulled you backwards, baring your neck to him easily as he moved his lips down slightly.

Opening your eyes then, you again surveyed the bar, noting that the Captain and his friends were leaving, sending a stink eyed glare in your direction as they threw down their cups and left.

"Morgan, get eyes on the Captain. Make sure he goes home and stays there," you breathe out quietly, waiting to hear the affirmative in your ear as Spencer kept his head buried at your neck.

In another second, he was off you, taking a swig only his drink as he smoothed your hair down again. You do your best to ignore the history pooling between your legs and the haze clouding up your brain as you stare at him swallow the drink, watching a small stream of the soda you'd ordered him instead run down his chin.

You watched it fall and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, pressed forward to lap it up from his neck. He'd spent time marking you. What harm could this do now?

However you rationalised it, you knew it was just an impulse, one greatly rewarded by his hands pulling your hips over his and a growl in your ears.

"Anything?" Was the only thing he said, and you pulled away to look into his eyes again before he pulled you in for another kiss.

"Sorry to interrupt, love bunnies, but we've had a change of plan. Two of our suspects are out, and they've bailed and been safely and discreetly escorted home by FBI agents from the field office. Hotch and Rossi are on the way back. He thinks we can nail him in there and get him to act out."

Pulling back from the kiss long enough to whisper your reply to Morgan into Spencer's mic, you can barely tear your eyes away from the man.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Men's bathroom is free. Hotch thinks if we make it look like you're doing something less than holy in there that it could force his hand. Especially because he's shown voyeuristic tendencies in the past."

"Shit. Detective Dumbass?"

"Only one left. And his name is Dunbar. You'd do well to remember that in the paperwork."

Pulling yourself up and out of Spencer's lap, you took a swig of your drink again as you stood.

"Follow me in three minutes." He grabs you by your wrist and turns you back around to him again, though before you can leave.

"Y/N, we're going to get this guy. After we do, I think we should talk." Instead of answering him, you pressed another lingering kiss to his lips and moved out again, heading directly to the dark corridor where the bathrooms were.

You slipped into the men's easily enough, thankful that it was empty. It was a single stall, and when you heard the knock on the door two minutes later, you were suddenly thankful that it was, because it meant that you could lock the door behind him and not risk anyone else coming in while you baited your unsub.

Spencer placed a hand to his lips as soon as he made it through the door, pulling out his phone to type out a message to you without speaking.

"Followed me. Think he's listening outside."

You pulled your own out to answer him.

"Let's give him a show then."

The both of you discarded your phones on the countertop of the bathroom and suddenly collided again, as if you were two magnets who could no longer resist the pull.

Your lips fought hungrily, and now you didn't pull back your voice letting all the moans of pleasure fall from your mouth and fill the bathroom.

His hands were on you in an instant, pushing you back against the door, letting the creep behind the wall hear as much as possible as his hips found yours and you started grinding against him like your life depended on it.

You could no longer tell what you were doing for the case, and what you were doing out of the simple desire to do so, wrapped up in all of the pleasure he was giving you in that minute. And that was before he started talking.

"You like that, whore? You like feeling my hands on you out here in this dirty bathroom." You clenched around nothing, even as his hands trailed lower, reaching the top of your skirt just as you replied.

"Yes, I like that, Daddy. Please touch me more."

You crashed together again, even as Spencer's hand fell inside your skirt and panties suddenly reaching for your clit. You forgot everything. The bathroom, the unsub, the wire you were wearing. When his hands were on you your only thoughts were him.

You gasped in delight as he began rubbing you, moaning out heartily, not bothering to restrain your voice. Even if there was not a murderer on the other side of the door, you'd have wanted everyone to know how good he was making you feel.

"Kneel," he says, and you listen, getting down to the dirty floor for him and looking up at him innocently.

"Now what, sir?" You ask, teasing him with a smile. He gives your face a light slap in reply, but the sound is sharp, and you can hear some movement outside. You don't get to think about it for too long, however, as he suddenly removes his cock from his pants.

"Suck" is all the instruction you need before you're taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around him.

After the entire night of teasing, you don't have to be told twice. You take him down your throat until you're gagging, but he puts his hands on your head and pushes you further anyway.

"That's it, baby, such a nice little slut just for me." He holds your hair as he begins fucking your face, softly whispering insults into the quiet bathroom.

"Perfect little slut, letting me do this here. For anyone to see and hear how much you like my dick down your throat. I should unlock this door, show everyone how nicely you take my cock."

You moan around him, desperately gripping his thigh as you struggle to breathe. He finally pulls out, pulling you up by your hair until you're face to face with him again, saliva dripping from your mouth.

"Is that how you like it?" He asks, and you nod fervently.

"Yes, sir. Please fuck me now, I've been such a good little girl."

He turns you and presses you against the door again. As you turn your ear to it, you can hear some pacing outside of it as he lifts up your skirt.

You were ready to feel this perfect bliss, right up to the moment Morgan decided to remind you of the task at hand.

"Hotch is here. We've got him cornered. Great acting, guys. We're thinking if Y/N exits the bathroom now, we can catch him trying to carry her off."

His hands stilled on you, and you both stared guiltily into each other's eyes. You kept your sounds up, definitely acting now, feeling as though you'd just been doused in ice-cold water.

Footsteps retreating down the hall had you suddenly nodding in response to each other, faking your orgasm with one last large gasp followed by a few minutes of silence and you straightened your clothes ready to bait the unsub once again. He tucks himself into his pants, and you loudly discuss your plans for separate exits.

"I'll meet you back at the table in five." He says, and with another lingering look, you're out the door and alone in the dark corridor, feeling empty and needy.

It was time to catch a killer.

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